Ein Skandal in Silesia
by Firecadet
Summary: Madame Vastra and Jenny find themselves greatly challenged when they are employed by the Duke of Silesia to retrieve an indiscreet photograph from the American actress and singer, Irene Adler. Based on the Sherlock Holmes short story "A Scandal in Bohemia".
1. Chapter 1

**In which Vastra and Jenny receive a visitor, and learn of an unusual situation indeed via the post. Also, a study of boots, hats and stains on fingers, along with observations on silurian courtship and mating rituals.**

To the casual onlooker, merely glancing through the window, it would have looked like a scene of extreme domesticity: the older widow, sitting by the window, while her younger maid, presumably her main companion in life, assuming that there were no children to visit, sat further into the room, in her own armchair, sewing an item sitting in her lap.

Inside the room, it wasn't much of a different story.

"I do wish it would stop raining like this." Vastra complained, her frustration clear in the crumpled copy of the Times crossword, half completed. "When it rains like this, all of London stays indoors, except for those with truly pressing business to attend to." Her voice took on a tone of pure frustration. "No-one ever considers coming to see me pressing." She complained, glancing out of the window at the almost empty street, kept clear of lingering traffic by the driving, miserable rain, even within the distance of a mile from to St. Paul's and the Bank of England.

"It's a lot better for us than it is for some poor devils." Jenny reminded her, looking up almost demurely from the ballistic vest she was repairing. "I though' I told ya before, these ain't knife proof." She said, glancing over at the silurian in her large, chintz armchair next to the window. Vastra had handed her the vest and asked her to repair it without going into specifics as to what had been done to it.

"It was a male ape." Vastra said, pretending to ignore the look Jenny shot her at the phrase that was the only real friction between the two of them. "He was stalking a hatchling down Prince's Gate, when I pulled him into an alley for a chat. He drew his knife and slashed at me before I could really react. He only got the vest. I introduced him to the kitchen cupboards just before it started raining."

Standing up and turning around, Vastra kept any form of physical threat out of her posture as she drew the knife she had confiscated with a Ko'chi'li'chak hold and twist, before a ska'coh'jih throw had sent the man into the wall with a enough force, and at the correct angle to break his neck cleanly, quickly, and as quietly as possible.

The blade was about a foot long, with a thirty degree curve in the blade about halfway along the length of the blade. It was almost unblemished by rust or corrosion, and the edge showed few signs of having been chipped or damaged. As she hefted it, weighing it in her hand, she was surprised by the sheer weight of the weapon, which felt to her as if it weighed more than a pound.

With a careful grip, once the weapon had been placed on her side-table, on top of the embroidery she had been working on before Vastra arrived home, Jenny picked up the khukri, before reaching under her dress, slipping her hand into the small, and almost entirely unnoticeable pouch, where she kept the roll of the highest quality velvet, from the same manufacturer that provided the lining for Queen Victoria's little crown, in which she kept her carefully maintained picklocks, each sitting in its own hand sewn pouch, along with several other tools, including a tuning fork, which she slipped out of the pouch still wrapped in its own velvet sleeve. Carefully, she held the weapon away from her body, and tapped the back of the blade once with the tuning fork, listening carefully.

The weapon rang musically, although there was a slight flatness to the sound, compared to the Japanese katanas in the armoury. It was not enough to worry her, but it indicated a microscopic flaw inside the blade.

"It's a dud, love." She reported. "It's got a flaw or two." She had seen a few khukris in the past, and the last thing she wanted Vastra doing was getting her hands on the thing. Giving the world's most responsible Siliurian a weapon with the particular capabilities of a khukri was something that she felt would be a bad idea, on the standard sliding scale. At least if she didn't want to come home to find the silurian looking like a small, otherwise innocent puppy surrounded by the remains of a slipper, and the knife lodged in some section of wall or a piece of furniture.

She smiled, gently at the thought.

"Jenny?" Vastra asked.

"Just remembering somthin'." She replied. "That time you took that crook of a land agent up t' spire at All Saint's, an' dangled 'im off."

"I didn't want to make a particular mess." Vastra said. "Dropping him from that height would have been dangerous to other apes... humans." she corrected herself, noticing Jenny glance towards their shared jar.

Vastra had to put a shilling in the jar whenever she referred to humans as apes, monkeys or primitives, while Jenny had to put a shilling in whenever she referred to her wife in less than complimentary terms, while referencing her biological group. The contents were routinely collected and used to purchase leather items from their favourite shop in Soho. Vastra favoured the wide range of restraints, while Jenny preferred some of the more interesting inserts that were sold.

Then, to Jenny's surprise, the doorbell went.

Quickly, the ballistic vest was concealed behind a layer of throw cushions, and the khukri disappeared into her apron pocket, allowing Vastra time to locate her veil, and to be identifiable only as a moderately visible humanoid, apparently with a skin condition that left her horribly deformed. The Silurian sniffed slightly, before settling herself in expectation of tea.

It wasn't long before a well-fed looking male human was shown into the room, his top hat still glistening with the rain that had landed on it while he was outside. Vastra cast a careful eye over him. The man was a fairly typical human male, of an average height, with perhaps five more pounds around the middle than might be considered healthy, strictly speaking. A distinguished set of eyes looked out from a face that was, while again slightly plump, indicative of some experience as a sportsman, with the tanned quality of a man who has seen life beyond the British Isles. His hair was dark, a few shades lighter than pitch, when he took off his top hat, with grey sideburns that extended to just below the ear, giving a sense of experience and reliability.

"Good evening, doctor...?"

"Dr. Smythe, Madame." The man said. "How did you know my profession?"

"There are clues when you take the time to look, doctor. The bulge in one side of your hat where your stethoscope is secreted is an obvious one, as is the trace of silver nitre on your left thumb."

"I was told that you have a considerable gift for observation, Madame. I am glad that my information was not in error on that point. What else can you tell me, before we get down to business?"

"I can tell that you used to play sport, presumably at medical school, and that you have served aboard with the military, probably with the royal marines, judging by the way you walk. I can also tell that you were shot once in the right leg, somewhat above the knee, and once below your left elbow."

The man glanced downwards, checking that his sleeves still covered his arm, seemingly. "How did you know all of that?" He asked.

"You have the smooth movement of a sportsman, but your gait is that of a sailor, although you are not nearly tanned or muscled enough for that, hence the marines. Your injuries are fairly easy to notice. You hesitate slightly as you step forward with your right leg; starting at the moment you begin to stress the muscles in the front of your leg. You also hold your left arm at a slight angle, compared to your right arm, although not enough to suggest an injury to the joint, suggesting muscle damage. The fact that you turn your arm slightly away from your body suggests that the injury was to the soft tissue, and penetrated through the muscle completely."

"That is impressive, Madame." He said, raising an eyebrow as Jenny returned to the room with a tea tray. "I hope that my little problem will not overly delay you."

Jenny very demurely placed the tea tray down on a side table, next to Vastra and her own chair, before pouring two cups of tea herself, splashing in a small amount of milk for Vastra, from a very specific jug that allowed her to avoid serving anyone else a mixture of milk and blood. The medical practitioner got a separate measure, before she took up a standing pose of readiness by the Silurian's armchair.

"I am interested to hear what has brought you here." Vastra said. "Please, state your trouble."

"It is a fairly simple one, Madame. During the last few days, my medicine cabinet has been depleting during the night. I sign out everything I use, and that is accurate to the list of prescriptions I am giving to my patients."

"What is disappearing?" Vastra asked.

"First, it was a bottle of calcium carbonate tablets. Then, after that, it was a small bottle of opium, although that was replaced the same night, half emptied."

"You have interviewed your servants?"

"I only have one. Alice is my wife's maid, and came from Banardos with a first grade reference and no previous complaints, other than a short liaison with a son in her previous house, although it seemed that she had been coerced somewhat, when I heard both sides of the story. She was in her room above ours both times. The stairs are right outside our room, and Shirley insists that Alice precede us to bed, because they make enough noise to wake the dead whenever someone uses them."

"Is there a draft in your office?" Vastra asked.

"I've started to notice one, lately. I assumed, of course, that I was getting older, and more susceptible to the cold."

"If you return, and move your medicine cabinet, you will find that a few bricks will have been removed from the wall behind it, presumably covered on the other side by a tarpaulin."

"I am in a row of houses, although the property next to my office is vacant at the moment."

"I suggest that when you return home, you summon a constable, and investigate the building. Likely, you will find your thief there."

Vastra gestured imperiously to Jenny, who stood up, before pulling a highly advanced mechanical stopwatch out of her apron. Unofficially, it had a twenty-first century mechanism from Rolex linked into the case. "Seven minutes and fifteen seconds, excluding tea." Jenny said. "That'll be eight shillings thruppence, and a farthing."

"Less than having my medicine cabinet raided repeatedly would cost me, by quite a margin." Smythe replied. "Thank you, Madame." He continued, dripping into his pocket and producing a handful of change, before counting out the money. "Eight shillings, thruppence ha'penney, wasn't it?"

"Thank you." Jenny said, noting that the smallest change was provided as two farthings. Amused, she nonetheless pocketed one of them, before handing the remaining change to Vastra. The Silurian smiled, under her veil, before making a show of counting the amount she'd been given.

Although she rarely got a large amount of money, even in a busy week, she had no doubt that the various tips she received often added up to a few shillings. Vastra got quite a few callers, most weeks, with problems from the banal to the significant, and they nearly always tipped her servant persona at the end of a meeting. Given that her official salary (the one she declared to the Inland Revenue, anyway) was thirty pounds a year, she wouldn't be surprised if the pennies, ha'pennies and farthings added up to another few pounds a year.

Vastra nodded, and Jenny returned the gesture, before leading the man out of the building, noticing the different way he was walking, more confident. She was grinning as she closed the door.

Jenny wandered back into the consulting room just in time to catch her wife with her tongue exiting the teapot. The afternoon newspaper described a fairly typical trajectory when thrown overarm, with a similar movement to the time she and Vastra had experimented with throwing axes.

The newspaper arrived at perhaps twenty degrees from vertical, its full length slapping into the Silurian's face at perhaps five metres per second. The Silurian blinked slightly. Then she toppled back into her chair.

"Oh, stop fakin', love. It ain't gonna get me any..." she broke off slightly as the silurian came out of her chair like a scaled panther, bounding into her maid and knocking her flat.

"Git the bloomin' curtains, you bleedin' daft lizard. If the telegram boy sees us in action, there'll be 'ell t' pay with t' papers."

Reluctantly, Vastra detached herself from her wife, who made no attempt to clamber upright or reach for the poker, before drawing shut the curtains. Then she took extreme measures. Reaching behind her chair, she extracted several coils of rope, before stepping over to her entirely passive maid, and rolling her onto her stomach, before placing a possessive foot between her shoulder blades, and gently pushing downwards.

Carefully, once dominance had been established, she pulled her wife into a kneeling position, her hands resting on her head, quickly positioning ropes to form a chest harness, drawing out the shape of her wife's breasts from under the wool vest and cotton shirt, before adjusting it for optimum comfort and definition.

Then she knelt down, carefully drawing her wife's hands from the top of her head, and moving them down her body, positioning them next to the opposite elbow. The rope was then looped around her upper arms, two or three inches above her elbow, binding them securely, once the Silurian had looped the ropes around them ten times, before making the reminder of her second rope fast to the chest harness. A third and final rope was carefully looped around her wife's forearms, binding them together so that her arms were secured. Then, almost jokingly, Vastra picked up her wife, before placing her over one shoulder, Vastra's arm locked around her ankles while the main torso hung over her shoulder. To heighten the humiliation, and therefore the pleasure, Vastra eased off one of her wife's house shoes, before caressing the exposed sole of her foot underneath. Jenny squealed, and was forced to override her base instinct to pull her feet away from the Silurian's fingers in order to avoid ending up on the ground with a sore head.

The bedroom door arrived more swiftly than Vastra would have liked, in some ways. The warm pressure on her back from her wife's body was very pleasant for the ectothermic silurian, as it warmed through a set of muscles that normally got very little radiant heat, unless she submitted herself to the gross indignity of using her heat lamps, set up in what was supposed to be a linen closet, assuming that all of the bedrooms on each floor were in use, and that the linens were changed almost daily. It was very undignified, having to go and stand in a closet, with nothing to do, in order to warm herself through.

Jenny wriggled a little as she was pressed onto the bed, before the Silurian's prehensile tongue slithered into position to do exactly what it wanted to do to her favourite ape.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

About an hour later, Vastra finally left her securely bound wife up, unbinding the ropes from around her arms and chest, noticing with a sense of satisfaction the way her pet ape's chest was rising and falling in exhaustion.

"You could try givin' a tad more warnin' next time." Jenny said, in what Vastra interpreted as her complaining for the sake of complaining tone. "I am not a giant massager for your sole use."

"I love you too." Vastra said, in reply, planting a kiss on the smaller biped's forehead.

Jenny looked up at her, grinning slightly. "If you really want t' show that, you couldn't exactly go wron' 'elpin' me with t' blasted 'ousework, you know." She said, wrapping a pair of arms around the Silurian's neck and kissing her back. "I love you as well."

When they got downstairs, Vastra took up her position in her consultation room, before Jenny cracked open the mail cage she'd placed on the door behind the letterbox after one too many items of arthropodic fan mail. Even if Vastra did insist that the large scorpion was a delicacy in its native land, Jenny did not want to have to try and extract a seven inch emperor scorpion from under the phone-table again. The scorpion trap, on this occasion, was empty, and the letterbox contained only three items: the five-o-clock edition of The Times, her weekly serialization of a medieval romance, which Vastra did not, of course, read when it was left unattended, and a large, tan envelope with only a name and address, printed in a slightly unusual hand.

'Madame Vastra

Thirteen Paternoster Row

London

England'

Jenny carried the stack through, placing the still bundled newspaper in a rack, along with her novel. Then she handed the Silurian the letter.

Vastra sniffed it, curiously. People did post her sausages occasionally. Then she cracked open the envelope.

Inside, she found a single sheet of thick white notepaper, inserted into the envelope without being folded, and sadly, no trace of any form of saussage.

"Madame:" the Silurian read. "There will call upon you tonight, at a quarter to eight o clock, a gentleman who desires to consult you upon a matter of the very deepest moment. Your recent services to one of the Royal Houses of Europe have shown that you are one who may be safely trusted with matters which are of an importance which can hardly be exaggerated. This account we have from all quarters received. Be in your chamber at this hour, and do not take it amiss if your visitor wears a mask."

Vastra felt her vestigial tail trying to twitch.

"Interestin', ain't it, ma'am?" Jenny asked, having read the note from one side of the Silurian. "Last time I saw someone mangle the language so bad, it was a card from my uncle Bill."

"Your uncle?" Vastra asked, suddenly curious.

"He was related t' me Aunt Vicky. The family weren't one we saw often. They live in blooming 'anover."

"Anover?" Vastra asked, puzzled by her ape's accent.

"Over in germ'ny."

"I see." Vastra said. Her ape seemed to 'mangle' the language at will, seemingly. Understanding her required practice, not to mention automatic insertions of h's, g's and o's, although the need for that seemed to depend on factors such as her mood, what she was doing (or doin') at the time and quite often, whim. Even then, stuff regularly got lost in translation.

"I'd better get t' tea on." The human girl said. "We've got an important visitor on 'is way, by t' sound 'o it."

 **This chapter has been a work in progress for a while. It's the start of a new story based on the Holmes novel a scandal in bohemia, as the title suggests and, admittedly, I have stated several times. It also includes a take on the background of Jenny based on some information on the Dr. Who wiki, although this may or may not be reliable. I will be very interested to learn from the given information who can deduce the identity of "Uncle Bill". No peeking at the wiki until you are certain or stuck.**

 **Also, can someone please arrest Romain Poite, and turn him in for breach of the peace. Every Rugby fan in England would like to get their hands on him tonight, so it's probably a good idea if he isn't on the streets, able to be dragged into a brawl.**


	2. Chapter 2

**In which dinner is cooked and eaten, the upcoming case is contracted, and the details thereof discussed**

In the pantry, Jenny went through a number of the cupboards, looking for something suitable for a silurian who was going to be working after her meal. That more or less ruled out red meat, as that put Vastra into a self-induced coma as fast as hot chocolate did, leaving her asleep for most of the evening, which would not be optimal, if she was any judge.

Fortunately, she had a supply laid on for such occasions.

Pigeons.

Grinning at her early memories of Vastra, she removed two of the plucked birds from the poultry rack, before using her knife set, crafted by a Japanese master swordsmith, to fillet them. The first time she'd served pigeon to Vastra, she'd thrown a handful of carrots, a diced green potato, and half an onion into the small iron pot, before simply boiling the contents for half an hour.

This time, she put a far larger helping of carrots, four potatoes at the peak of their ediblity, two large onions, a handful of walnuts, which contained a chemical compound which had an effect on silurians similar to caffeine, into the same pot, along with two cubes of chicken stock. She also added a pair of spring onions, and an apple, sliced into sixteenths.

The results of giving Vastra coffee, the one time she'd done so, had been memorable, not least of which because they had been picking carpet fibres out of Jenny's back for the next week, once she'd come around from the doses of venom Vastra had accidentally given her. Tea made her suggestable. Coffee... no. Not unless they were on holiday and had a large bed. And were within reach of a UNIT associated trauma centre.

With the full resources of her own kitchen to take advantage of, Jenny sauteed the pigeon fillets with a mixture of brandy, walnut oil, and spinach. The combination of flavours worked surprisingly well, and kept Vastra awake easily, so long as she didn't get all the jus.

Carefully, she boiled the vegetables until they were almost dry, before scooping the resultant food onto a plate, and sprinkling Vastra's with a small amount of cod liver oil, which she knew would slow down her eating, thanks to the flavour, which, for some reason, she liked to savour.

Vastra's table manners, when the food was served, were fairly typical. Her tongue gathered the bits she wanted to eat, while pushing aside the vegetables, which were reluctantly siphoned up as well when she found there was no more meat.

The first time she'd allowed Vastra to go out alone for food had been just after a holiday spent in the 21st century, in a slightly touristy area of the east of England. Vastra had enjoyed the walking, while Jenny focused on people watching and making sure Vastra behaved herself. Foolishly, or perhaps hoping that after six years of education on human behaviour, Jenny had sent her out "to get a Chinese."

Predictably, the unsupervised Silurian had returned with a Chinese gang member, who, in her defence, had attacked her, rather than the other way around. Unfortunately, Jenny had been expecting, somewhat optimistically, a meal of Chinese food. Vastra had gone to bed without dinner, while Jenny had extracted an item from her latest day trip. She'd been taken, mostly by Vastra, into a large shop, smelling of bacon, and left with a large, wheeled mesh cart full of items Vastra thought smelt nice.

She hadn't been exactly sure about the jar of "Sweet and Sour sauce." Letting her uncle Benjamin cook, on the rare occasions when the family had cooked their food, had been a sure-fire way of ending up with a kitchen full of smoke. Vastra had been brought her own apron on their sojourn, for the same reason. It carried the legend "Dinner is ready when the smoke alarm goes off."

That said, when it was poured over her chicken fillets, it had tasted very pleasant. Although she wasn't exactly sure about the vegetables which were contained by the sauce actually being fresh enough to contain any form of nutrients.

She knew, from experience, that Vastra could use the cutlery she had been provided with. With proper coercion, she might even not simply use it to move food into the immediate vicinity of her tongue, and use the cutlery to insert food into her mouth as well. She almost always refused to demonstrate that ability, but she was capable of doing so.

Today, Vastra was on form. Without even pausing, she downed her meal, before chasing the sauce around the bowl with her tongue. Jenny didn't even need to chastise her once for drinking the wine, a fairly simple red, out of the bottle. That was unusual behaviour for Vastra, to say the least.

Jenny put the unusually good behaviour down to the fact she looked suspiciously hyped up, and was focusing most of her attention on the promised amusement to come in the evening.

Then it was time to clear the table, and throw Vastra out of the dining room.

"Out." She brusquely instructed the Silurian. She could see Vastra making eyes at the sideboard, on which, in accordance with the layout of the house since before Vastra had moved in, there was an array of spirits and fortified beverages, none of which she wanted Vastra to drink before she met with her German visitor tonight. Not after her gin habit.

The table was very straightforward to clear. Two plates, earthenware, not the fancy porcelain service that they trotted out if they were entertaining the locals. Two straightforward goblets, in sterling silver. Vastra had vetoed the pewter ware after discovering that it contained lead. The cutlery was also silver, simply because the stainless steel industry was about fifty years away. She dropped it all into the wash basin, and added several dabs of 21st century washing up liquid. It took her about five minutes to do one human and one silurian's worth of cutlery, even when she included the pots and cutlery she'd used when cooking. It was the great advantage of the one cauldron stew.

Vastra, she knew, would be in her consulting room, surrounded by her collection of late-cretaceous flowering plants. For a pre-arranged consultation, it was her favourite haunt. Jenny had finally managed to dispose of her wife's nest of pollinators without being caught, as she suspected that very few of her fellow humans would accept the presence of totally alien looking pollinators without some kind of intrusive explanation. Vastra had blamed the cold when Jenny brought the nest in, having smoked the occupants at night, then stashed them in the icebox for a week.

That said, it was now time to join her, with a lot of tea. And bourbon biscuits, her wife's current food fetish. Fortunately, they contained as much cacao powder as the average stream next to a teahouse, so they weren't as anaesthetising as hot chocolate.

Vastra was sitting in her armchair. Gratefully, Jenny took a seat across from her, once she'd served the tea.

"What is a German?" Vastra asked, once her wife was seated. "Other than an ape from somewhere known as German."

"It's Germany, ma'am." Jenny informed her. "As for what they are, they're logical. Their language is very structured, following set rules all the time. He'll speak clearly enough, but the word choice will be a bit different. It'll sound like any of the neighbour's accent, but more formal."

"Interesting." Vastra replied.

"Also, he'll be wearing an opera mask."

"Why?" Vastra asked.

"Because humans largely rely on sight to identify a stranger, and to recognise them subsequently until they are more familiar with them. If you can't see his face, according to his logic, you can't identify him later if he has given you a false name, which he almost certainly will have done."

Vastra was giving Jenny her sceptical look.

"I know. You're a smell-predator, as well as a sight predator. It won't work on you, but I won't be able to recognise his face."

"How likely is it that this is your uncle Bill?" Vastra asked.

"Not very." Jenny said. "He doesn't travel much."

"It'd have been nice to meet a member of your clan." Vastra said.

"I'd be pleased to as well." Jenny commented.

Then the doorbell went, at the far end of the hall.

A few moments later, Strax opened the door.

"May I take your coat?" She heard.

"Danke." She heard, in reply. "I habe an appointment wit Madame Vastra."

"Madame is in her consulting room." Straw replied. "Follow me, please."

A few moments later, the man was shown in, preceded by his booming footsteps on the hollow wooden floor. He was large, muscular, with the build of a weightlifter, perhaps topping two metres in height. To Vastra, he seemed almost bafflingly dressed. There was none of the reserve she associated with apes from this part of the world. His dress was rich, with bands of tightly curled wool on the sleeves and front of his double-breasted coat. Over his shoulders, he was wearing a richly coloured blue cloak, lined with yellow silk, and fastened at the throat with a broach, set with a single, brilliantly coloured garnet. Even the boots were something Vastra had rarely seen before. They came not to the ankle, but to mid-calf, trimmed with brown fur.

A slightly florid face, visible under the large mask he was wearing, was the only sign he outwardly showed that the consulting room was ten degrees hotter than the rest of the house, and perhaps fifteen hotter than the exterior. Vastra hissed softly.

"Madame Vastra?" He asked. "I am your client. In London, I am known as the Graf von Kramm. I habe an appointment wit you. It was my understanding that this would be a private meeting, unless you can vouch for the discretion of your servants."

"They have both been with me long enough that I consider them intimates I trust explicitly." Vastra replied. "Would you like some tea?" At least this ape wasn't going to start an argument about who poured the tea.

"Pliss." He replied. "Der journey hast been most tiring."

Jenny stepped forward, with an elegant porcelain cup and saucer, supplemented by a pair of biscuits. She presented them with an elegant curtsey, before doing the same for Vastra.

"Thank you, Jenny." Vastra said, as her wife retreated behind the serving table.

What happened next was her worst nightmare.

"Yenny?" He asked. "Your full name est Yennifer?"

"Yes." She replied, looking at the ground, in the proper manner for a servant being addressed by a foreign nobleman.

"Look at me, fraulein." He said.

Jenny very reluctantly looked up.

"Can I trust you, Yennifer, with my honour, as much as I can trust your mistress?"

"You can, sir." She replied, surprised to the extreme that such a man would address her personally.

Then I must begin," He said, looking first Jenny, then Strax, and finally Vastra herself, in the eyes. "By binding you all to absolute secrecy for two years; at the end of that time the matter will be of no importance. At present it is not too much to say that it is of such weight it may have an influence upon European history."

Vastra audibly hissed. To Jenny's surprise, the C-96 Mauser sidearm riding in one of the pockets of his coat remained untouched or even moved towards.

"I see." She responded. "You have my word that I will not speak of this to anyone who would be capable of misusing it until the time limit you have set has expired."

 _He hasn't noticed the phrasing, there._ Jenny thought. _It's as subtle as she normally is, though. Perhaps that is why he hasn't objected to it._

"You vill take the case?"

"Even I must eat." She replied. "Besides, I quickly grow bored with the humdrum nature of my everyday life."

"Then I will state my case to you, Madame Vastra." The german accent, combined with the lack of french stresses, made the word sound almost painfully routine, pronouncing it "Ma-Dam", without the usual flourish on the last syllable. "The facts are briefly these: Some five years ago, during a lengthy visit to Warsaw, I made the acquaintance of the well-known adventuress, Irene Adler. The name is no doubt familiar to you." Vastra nodded, behind her veil. "We grew close, over that visit. She even visited mine schloss." Jenny was impressed. As he spoke English, the man's accent seemed to improve, clearly a credit to his language instructor.

"You corresponded, afterwards?" Vastra asked. Jenny had trained her vigorously for cases such as this.

"We did."

"So, now, she threatens to produce those letters?" Vastra asked. "Why now?"

"Because I am to be married. The newspapers will carry the betrothal notice on Monday. It is a political match with the family of one of the local barons, but the family is very pious. Any suggestions that my conviction and probity are in doubt would drive them to break off the match."

"What do you wish me to do?" Vastra asked.

"Recover the photograph and the letters, before the betrothal notice is published."

"Err... my Lord." Jenny said, timorously. "Why would these letters be accepted as genuine?"

"They are on my notepaper."

"They could have stolen it."

"The contents are... energetic."

"Faked."

"It's my handwriting and signature."

"Forged. Easy enough to do." She picked up a pad, sized up the man, and dashed off a short note.

"How...?" He gasped, slightly. "I printed the note I sent you earlier."

Jenny glanced at Vastra, hopefully.

"My maid assessed your body-language and personality. You're assertive. Dominant. You rarely back down. You have a flamboyant streak, from your clothing. Hence..." she gestured to the note. "I didn't do your signature. I'd need a sample and a few hours to practice signing your name."

"I see." He growled, somewhat intrigued by the forwardness of the serving girl, despite the vast gulf in class between the two of them. "How would you explain my photograph?"

"Bought from a shop."

"We are both in it. Looking into the camera together."

"Ah." Jenny said. "That could be... a tricky one."

"Madame, what is your advice?"

"Pay her. Require the photo in exchange."

"She has not set a price."

"Did you marry her?"

"No."

"Did you propose to her, or offer any contract beyond company?"

"No."

"But if your proposed wife's family saw the letters and photograph?"

"They would consider the match unviable."

"I assume that you have tried to recover the incriminating evidence?" Vastra asked. Burglary was a pastime she was very familiar with during her investigations.

""Five attempts have been made. Twice burglars in my pay ransacked her house. Once we diverted her luggage when she travelled. Twice she has been waylaid. There has been no result."

"But you've never found the photograph?"

"There has been no sign of it."

"I see. Very well, sir. I will take your case."

"How much do you want?" He asked. "I have three hundred pounds in gold in my carriage, along with seven hundred in notes."

"It will do for present expenses." Vastra said. "Jenny, give the gentleman a receipt, once his man has delivered the money"

"Yes, ma'am." Jenny replied. "My lord, will you be staying in London?"

"Certainly. You will find me at the Langham under the name that I have given you."

"What is the address you believe the photograph to be kept at?"

"Briony Lodge, Serpentine Avenue, St. John's Wood."

Jenny made a note of it, using one of her many notebooks. "How big was the photograph?"

"It was a cabinet card." He replied. Jenny noted that down as well, before signalling to Vastra.

"Then, good-night, your Lordship, and I trust that we shall soon have some good news for you." Vastra said, as Strax returned to the door to show out the Count.

Once the room was empty, excepting the two of them, Jenny poured herself a cup of tea, selecting one of the larger capacity bone-china mugs, and then promptly sat down on Vastra's lap, curling her legs up to fit as neatly as possible.

"So." Vastra asked. "How will you gather information about our objective?" She leant over, and began gently nibbling her wife's ear, careful, as always, not to draw blood.

"I'll be heading to the pub, most likely. An area like that will have a public house catering to servants, which is likely to be a good place to gather gossip. It's never the fault of servants that people treat them like items of furniture." Smiling, she turned her head, leaning slightly backwards, before kissing her wife just below the tympanic membrane. There was a rattle as Vastra reached down beside her chair, and the two began one of their many mating rituals.

 **Well, as you might guess, I've been borrowing dialogue from the original, particularly for the Graf. The stakes are a bit lower here, than the original, but still could have severe implications within the German empire. A cabinet card photograph measures 4 ½ by 6 ½ inches.**

 **An explanation for the amount of private time that Vastra and Jenny have: I'm basing this element of Vastra's character on owls, from species that mate for life. Their usual greeting to their partner, on a return to their nesting place, is to mate. Without researchable information on their behaviour in this regard, I'm assuming that "Regular, often several times per day" is their default position.**

 **While I was writing this chapter, PC David Phillips, of Merseyside Police, was killed in a hit-and-run while attempting to stop a vehicle that was being pursued by his colleagues after being stolen from outside an address. It is being treated as murder.**


	3. Chapter 3

**In which Jenny cleans Paternoster Row, conducts an investigation and shoots a man.**

The next morning, Jenny, woke up at about seven, her normal time to be awake, and began the process of untangling herself from both Vastra and a seven foot silk ribbon, which was wrapped around her upper arms and torso. Fortunately, Vastra hadn't tied it off, so she was able to get rid of it after about a minute of struggling.

Then it was time for the Cupboard. Inside, she picked through the racks ad both male and female disguises, briefly stroking an oversized flat wool cap that had been one of her first acquisitions.

Early in their friendship, Vastra had reacted extremely violently when Jenny disguised herself, using the cap, and a number of now discarded items of cheap clothing, as a young boy, which had left a venom scar on the counter she'd been standing next to in the gin palace.

Vastra had been schooled, over the years since that incident, not to fire at will where her tongue was concerned, without at least taking a sniff and actually looking at faces. Some of that training had involved Jenny dressing in all sorts of clothing, and doing her household maintenance. Vastra had quickly got into the habit of sniffing whenever she saw an unfamiliar person in the house. The one burglar to sneak in had been eaten quietly, although Jenny had grabbed her singlestick when she found out, and belaboured the mostly amused Silurian with it.

 _What am I going to need?_ Jenny pondered. _I've got a large selection of various tunics and dresses. Plain and simple, though._ She decided, stepping past the first rack. Pretending to be a housekeeper or senior cook wouldn't get her very far when trying to extract information from a group of footmen and serving girls. She gathered a fairly standard full length black dress with long sleeves, and laid it out, although with a never-to-be-sufficiently damned corset. _If I don' wear t' bugger, they'll notice. Then they'll wonder who I am. And why I'm asking leading questions, paying for all the rounds…_

 _Where do I work?_ She pulled out a directory. _Near enough that I'd be in the 'catchment area' for a small pub by word of mouth, but far enough away that no-one is surprised that they've never worked with me or met me before. Not a house, then, as they'd wonder why they'd never met me. Lord's? It's commercial, rather than domestic. When there's a test series…_ she reached for her newspaper. _Bingo. They've just had the fourth test of an Australia tour._

Her background was starting to come together. _So, I'm working at Lord's… I overheard someone mentioning a pub nearby where you didn't have to worry about the groundskeeper catching you drinkin'…_ she extracted a used cricket ball signed by CB Fry that they'd collected while in South Africa, giving Vastra a rare holiday in the sun. _That should 'elp convince them, if they've read the bliming papers. Caught it in the crowd, or somethin' like that. Or picked it up from the discards pile, and got him t' sign it for me master._

She clambered into her uniform for the day, lacing up the corset with mutual moans of discontent. Being unable to breathe as well, or move as freely as normal, could be the difference between life and mugging, rape, or any of the other encounters that struck down a significant number of maid-servants each year. Vastra would notice. And probably approve more to the point. She was not going to wear one daily, regardless of how much her wife begged her to. Corsets, in practice, were not designed to accommodate the musculature of a martial artist or swordswoman.

Eventually, though, and with much groaning, she was dressed to carry out her operations.

The first part of it though, was to do the floors.

Grabbing her scrubbing brush and floor bucket from where she'd left them, Jenny carefully scoured over the floor, not worrying in the slightest about her appearance. Once the wooden floor was clean to her satisfaction, she applied a layer of wax, having first confirmed that Vastra was still asleep, and not likely to go skating down the hall unexpectedly.

The next chore of the day was the downstairs carpets. Rolling up the two she judged to be the most dirty under one arm, she carried them into the coach yard, and securely pegged them onto the clothesline, then fetched her carpet beater out of the woodshed.

A half hour later, she was sweating, dusty and dirty. The cask of small beer she kept in her woodshed was called for, and she quickly downed two pints of the stuff, which, despite not being refrigerated, was nonetheless extremely refreshing.

She knew there were a couple more tasks to complete, though, around the Row.

Stepping back inside, she found her ostrich feather duster, one of the many domestic items that Vastra had been walloped with for various errors of judgement, such as currying all the breakfast cereals. Wearing a bandana, she went around the various stairwells and other similar locations, clearing the dust from them and into a bag. Once full, the bag was discarded into one of the bins at the rear of the property. Another couple of pints of small beer were consumed, before she decided that she and her clothes were both sufficiently work-stained.

Taking a bath or doing anything else to improve her appearance would be counter-productive, particularly since she'd successfully wasted most of the day on her various cleaning tasks.

"I'm going t' the pub, love." She called into the house, standing in the front hall.

Vastra took about thirty seconds to respond.

"Now?" she asked.

"I'll be back this evenin'." Jenny replied. "Dinner's in the oven."

Vastra made a sniffing noise from her study.

Jenny just shook her head, before stepping through the door, and out onto the London streets.

It was a typically balmy June day, outside. Jenny was wearing her cardigan, rather than her longer, thicker overcoat, one of Vastra's birthday gifts to her wife. It blended with almost any style of dress, and looked plain enough to pass notice when worn by a maidservant on the street within a mile of St. Paul's cathedral. Vastra always gave her dirty looks whenever the bells disturbed her meditations or her sleep.

A few hundred yards up the street, Jenny realised she was being followed. Her tracker was skilled, staying perhaps twenty paces behind her, never looking in her direction. Any other maid in London would have been completely fooled.

Jenny wasn't.

Her stalker continued to follow her for about a mile, as she trekked through the backstreets of London, a soiled looking maid on her way to some appointment.

When he made his move, at last, she was ready for him.

A cutthroat razor gleamed in her attacker's hand as she spun around, the only other person in the little side-street she was using to get to her destination faster. He'd got close enough that she pretended to have heard his footsteps.

A little artistic scream later, and he was suckered in close, a length of rope in one hand, and the knife in the other.

 _I'm not going to let him into grabbing distance._ She decided, very quickly. _He's not in training, but he's almost certainly used to overpowering girls like me… or at least like what he thinks I am…_

When he was six feet away, she started to back off, not allowing him to crowd her into a corner.

He lunged at her, when he realised she was backing towards safety, not away from it.

Her foot lashed out, slit skirts coming in handy, and the toe of her plimsoll connected with his hand with a smack, knocking the cutthroat razor away, the gleaming weapon slicing into the flesh of his hand as he dropped it.

Ju-jitsu wasn't an unknown art on the streets of London though, and her initial follow-through was fielded neatly, slapped to one side a few inches short of his throat.

She dropped backwards again, transmitting nervousness through her body language. Another few little bits of misdirection were all it took. This time, though, her foot wasn't aimed at a hand.

Her foot described a short, brutal arc, the ball of her foot being the impact point this time, just below her attacker's sternum. It wasn't the lethal version of the blow, but it still left her attacker doubled over in pain, feeling as if he was having a heart attack.

If his heart was weak, there was a significant chance that he would, in the next forty-eight hours, collapse, suffering a cardiac arrest. She wasn't exactly too concerned about the possibility. He'd made the decision to stalk, and attempt to abduct her, without any thought for her. She wasn't going to waste any of her time worrying about him.

The next few streets were clear, as far as she was concerned. A second possible stalker who'd been following at a greater distance had seen her assault on the first, and fled.

There were no further alarms before she reached her chosen tavern.

Stepping through the door, she rapidly gathered an impression of the room.

 _Lots of little groups drinking. No sign of butlers or housekeepers, but they probably have their own tavern._ With a certain degree of reluctance, she crossed over to the serving counter. The drinks were slightly under-priced, but not enough to eliminate any profit from them.

"A beer, please." She said after tapping the counter with a shilling a couple of times to draw the innkeeper's attention.

A slightly undersized glass arrived on the counter in front of her a few moments later. Glancing around, she confirmed that it was the same size as those provided for regulars. Had it not been, it would have been a message that she was unwelcome, and she would have likely heeded it.

A couple of minutes sitting on a barstool later, she got the approach she was looking for. Another maid, with several of her friends in hearing range, took her own ease next to Jenny.

"Where're ya from?" She was asked, the regular appearing friendly enough.

"I've bin doin' a bit'a cleanin' a' Lord's." She replied. "I were employed down Billin'sgate way 'fore tha'.

"Aye?"

"Aye." Jenny replied. "All sorts down tha'way, but ya learn t' places t' avoid quick enough. One of me last lot let me learn a bit o' tha' Ju-jitsu business. Right 'andy after closin' time."

A few minutes of conversation followed. Jenny didn't pretend to have worked in any of the houses her new acquaintance knew, or had friends in.

Then, she got her first tit-bit.

"One o' our grooms reckins there were some sorta detective hangin' around the Mews t'day. All sortsa questions, although he seemed to be focusing on Miss Alder at Byrony Lodge for some reason. She's been 'avin' all sortas trouble lately. She's had the constable aut twice, not that there's anythin' worth stealin' in the house, 'ceptin' 'er jewellery."

Jenny shook her head. If the Graf's paid burglars didn't bother to steal some trifles, what in the name of God did they think they were playing at?

"Was anything pinched?" She asked.

"Not that the servants knew about."

"Why do they think the guy were a detective?"

"He was very 'elpful, and seemed to know 'is way about an 'orse better than 'alf o' them. Right curious, given the questions 'e were askin'. Spent quite a while lookin' at her carriage, an' askin' all sortsa questins 'bout how oftin it were used."

"Aye?" Jenny replied. "Wha'd they tell 'im."

"Oh, they strung 'im alon' tellin' 'im she goes out fer a daily drive at five. She don't leave the house less'en she's singin', an' comes straight back afterwerds. They also gave him some stuff about a dashin' gentleman caller. Our groom were chucklin' over tha' un."

"Don't sound much o' a detective."

"She does 'ave one. Little chap, not much to look at. Some sorta lawyer or something. He stays the night quite oftin, if'en you know wha' I means."

Jenny filed it away.

The rest of her night was spent standing rounds, perhaps to the value of a few shillings, and confirming and refining her information. It appeared that the gentleman caller was a rather dapper sort of fellow, despite not being overly prepossessing to look at. Several of the maids had indicated that they'd have been willing to pay him some attention, had the lady of the house not shown an interest.

The man's name was Geoffrey Norton, according to two separate informants. That information also went into her mental notebook; as did the address for him in the city, courtesy of a groom with one drink too many inside of him, slightly distracted by three subtly unfastened top buttons. Compared to the twentieth century equivalent, it wasn't exactly explicit, showing just a sliver of neck and the tiniest amount of chest, but the sliver of flesh had an intoxicating effect on most of the males she was aware of, on the rare occasions she needed to use her sexuality in the course of an investigation.

Vastra always got a bit sniffy when she saw Jenny putting out, for some reason.

Finally, though, she made her excuses. The various servants would barely remember her in a week's time, if she was any judge. She'd just be a servant who'd walked in, brought a few drinks, and talked with them.

The private detective, on the other hand, would be remembered for months or even years. It was the difference between a wife-follower and a detective, as she saw it. One was clumsy, arrogant, and didn't care about being noticed too much. The other was quiet, softly spoken, and unmemorable, much like the way she'd dressed.

The trip back to Paternoster Row, by comparison to the outbound leg, was essentially quiet.

At least until she walked down one of her shortcuts.

Ahead of her, she saw a very familiar sight. A man hunched over a woman, both one the ground.

It was the metallic scent of fresh blood that sent her hand to her neck, and her whistle. It'd saved her life more than once. Setting it between her lips, she blew the familiar pattern, three long blasts, a pause, then three more, cutting through the night air. Any constable within half a mile was now approaching at speed.

The attacker also reacted. Jumping to his feet, he launched himself at Jenny, aiming a savage chop at her neck. She batted it away, rising onto her toes. The alleyway was surfaced with granite setts, giving her a good, but unforgiving surface to fight on.

Three more strikes followed the first. Each would, at the least, have seriously injured her, had she not batted them away, or evaded them.

As so often, when she went on the offensive while unarmed, she did so with her feet. Vastra had looked at her, while she was growing, and made quite clear that although she'd be teaching her maid the full range of strikes, her lack of size and reach would be a liability for her if she tried to fight with palm-strikes and chops.

Her first lunging kick nearly carried her into an arm-bar, although she flowed underneath it, jabbing with her fingers in a barely blocked kidney strike. The man was almost as fast as she was, clearly skilled, and twice her weight, most likely. Vastra would cane her for not fleeing, ordinarily, but with an innocent life at stake; she would fight, just as the Silurian had on the night they met, all those years before.

Suddenly, there was a gleam of silver in the light thrown from the nearest gas lamp. _Oh gawd. 'Es gone an pulled a knife on me._

She didn't waste any more time after that. He was off the reservation. Her hand dipped into her own pockets. They came out with a .38 special detective revolver. She hesitated for a few moments, to check that no-one was behind her target, then pulled the trigger twice. Both rounds struck within an inch of each other, almost directly over the man's heart. He slumped to the ground. From six feet away, Jenny fired a third, and then a fourth time, both rounds crunching into the man's temple. Even if he had survived the two centre-mass shots, he wasn't going to survive the two expanding hollow-points into his skull.

Then the first sprinting constable arrived, and took a step backwards, as he processed the scene in front of him. A woman, moaning in agony, on the ground. A crumpled body, a few feet away, with another female standing over him, a silver whistle visible around her neck, and her pistol arm extended.

Jenny looked around, her face almost invisible in the darkness, before darting into the shadows, her running footsteps echoing down the alleyway, almost completely invisible. She probably hadn't been recognised, and ballistics hadn't advanced as a criminal science sufficiently to identify any markings on a deformed expanding bullet. Even if she was, there would be no case. She'd acted in defence of life.

Vastra smelt the blood on her maid as soon as she stepped through the door.

"Who?" She asked.

"A rapist." Jenny replied, shaking slightly, with delayed combat shock. "He attacked me, when I disturbed him. I shot him four times."

"You can brief me in the morning, then." Vastra stated, before hauling her wife upstairs, peeling her out of her uniform, and dropping her into a warm bath, before standing guard over her, crooning gently, and stroking her hair.

 **I'd like to thank IrisSteth, Painton** **and TheTightTux for posting reviews to the last chapter. I'm not sure what bearing that shooting will have on the story. It just came along, of its own accord. Hope everyone enjoyed this chapter. I'd also like to thank GreyGhost101 for their kind permission to borrow elements and events from "The Dragon's Heart" series, which is well worth a read.**


	4. Chapter 4

**In which Jenny suffers a recurring nightmare, is counselled by Vastra, picks some locks and narrowly avoids arrest. Vastra learns about why Jenny never really discussed her former life, and gets quite a surprise.**

Jenny's toes barely cleared the opposite wall of her cell, as she tried to protect herself from the bright sunlight washing in through the narrow window above her, and leaving her in agony as the photons bounced off of the whitewashed walls of her tiny cell, only failing to reflect from the heavy door of riveted steel that connected her six by four cell with the outside world.

A line of tally marks scratched into the wall with the handle of the spoon she was provided when fed read three.

Suddenly, the hatch in her cell door slammed open, and a full English breakfast was pushed through the hatch, placed on their floor, allowing her to eat, although her stomach went into spasm at the sight of the meal, which she knew to be intended for one purpose.

It was an English tradition to give a condemned prisoner a meal of their choice, before they were hung.

The food was good, although she lingered considerably more over each mouthful than she normally would have, the metal rings connecting her ankles together reminding her exactly what was going to happen when she finished eating, and threatening to turn each mouthful into ashes inside her mouth.

When she had finished, the executioner entered the room, pushing open the door, and reaching out a hand for her to shake, although his posture told her his actual intent, to twist her around and force her hands into a wide belt, preventing her being able to resist as she was led to the gallows.

 _If I throw him into the wall, I will end up being hung after they overpower me._ She thought, having considered various manners of resistance to being hung, before deciding to give in, which weighed heavily on her as she accepted the grip, although she pushed back just hard enough to make the point that she could have easily thrown him into the wall, before her hands were twisted behind her back, the wide leather belt applied around her waist, sending a surprisingly violent surge of pleasure through her body, before a sensible canvas hood was placed over her head.

The sudden darkness made it easier for her to be whipped along, barely able to stay upright, before she was dragged to a sudden halt, over a section of the floor which seemed to creak ominously as she stepped onto it. She knew that there would be another sudden stop very soon in her future.

A hemp rope was looped around her neck, settled against the back of her head, before the trapdoor snapped open, dropping her slowly six feet, before coming to a halt that wasn't neck- breaking, and she began to strangle, the rope suddenly cutting into her neck as she fought frantically for air.

-0-0-0-0-0-

Then she jerked awake, suddenly sitting upright, with a convulsive gasp for air. _One o' them aginn._ She thought, looking around the room, confirming the lack of hangmen, prison warders, or police officers, and breathing a sigh of relief.

Next to her, Vastra stirred, nose twitching slightly. She looked at Jenny, before wrapping herself around the small human, being a strong pair of loving arms, and a protector from anyone or anything that might wish to harm her beloved ape. Vastra had forgone their usual rituals the previous night, simply tucking Jenny into bed, and sitting by her, holding her hand, until she dropped off to sleep, as if she was still the street arab that the silurian had brought home with her one night.

After a few minutes, Vastra pushed her wife firmly back onto the bed, before disappearing. Jenny heard her footsteps go down the stairs, then head into the kitchen. It wasn't as worrying as it would have been once upon a time; now that the Silurian could at least prepare toast, bacon and boiled eggs without starting a fire. They were still working on scrambled egg, but Vastra could now produce something that was more closely related to the ideal product than a rubber tire.

Ten minutes later, Vastra came back upstairs, carrying a large tray. On it, and steaming cheerfully, was a full English breakfast, and, bizarrely, a croissant.

Jenny tucked in with a will. Vastra wasn't the best chef in the world, but she could operate a can opener and hot-plate with the best of them.

Once she'd finished Vastra wrapped a tongue around her neck, and turned her head so that she was looking the Silurian in the eyes.

"What happened, Love?" she asked, gently.

"I were comin' back down frum Lawd's, and I heard sumthin' in an alley. I took a look, and there were a woman on the floor being done. I could smell blood, and she didn't exactly sound too 'appy 'bout it. I blew me whistle, and the bastard on the floor got up and came at me. I tried to knock 'im down, but he were enough of a fighter to give me a hard time. Then he pulled a knife, so…"

Vastra didn't need her to say anything more. She'd been able to smell the cordite on her wife's clothing as soon as she stepped into the room, along with the blood that had sprayed over her. She'd have known even if her wife had been wearing a environment suit, and had discarded it. Jenny, much to Vastra's pleasure, never enjoyed taking a life.

She just took full possession of the smaller human, nuzzling her, and crooning.

"You did nothing wrong." She reminded the human. "You saved two lives. If he'd... you'd both..." Vastra didn't even want to use the words.

"Then why do I feel like a bliming murderer?" Jenny asked, quietly.

"Because you aren't one."

"How'd you make that out?"

"Jenny, I've got military training, and a temper. You're not that person. You're kind, friendly, and you do all the stuff I never could."

"The laundry is something you never bothered t' learn, more like." Jenny muttered. "If I were to leave you alone fer a week, you'd 'ave the house on fire and the crushers around."

Vastra replied by reaching behind her pillow, and producing a pair of leather straps, each with a short tongue shaped loop of metal poking through a slot, with a padlock through each. Quickly, she shook loose the padlocks and ensnared her wife, before securing them on behind her back.

Jenny gave her a very dirty look.

A few minutes later, the silurian stepped out of the bedroom, and listened approvingly at the door. She could just about hear the muffled sounds she knew to be threats involving skinning, taxidermy and museums. There were also some new ones, she noticed approvingly. Not that they were all that clear around the leather panel that currently interfered with her wife's mouth, anyway.

She knew full well that she needed to take some precautions, so she locked the door, leaving the key the wrong way up in the lock. Her wife kept a spare set of picklocks in her corsetry drawer. Even with her ankles secured together with a modified, not to mention securely padlocked, belt, it would only take her twenty or so minutes to break loose.

-0-0-0-0-0-

Jenny took twenty-five minutes to arrive in the drawing room, her sword in one hand.

"I told yer that the next time you did that t' me, they'd be a reckining." She growled, or at least did the closest approximation of one she could manage.

"Tea?" Vastra replied, offering the teapot to her wife. "It's good for you."

"I'll give yer tea." Jenny muttered, stalking a bit closer. "You tie me up, then you don't even 'ave the decency to help me forget all me problems fer a bit."

"You always enjoy a challenge."

"And what sort of idea were it to leave the key in that lock upside down? Took me five minutes to get it turned around with a pair of tweezers."

Vastra simply poured the tea into a cup, that she'd carefully put milk into beforehand. The taste of curdled milk was one she had no desire to experience again, before placing it on the side table next to her wife's armchair. Jenny sank into it, before shoving her katana into the small case she'd installed down the side of the cushion.

"Did you find it relaxing?" Vastra asked, hopefully

"No, I bloomin' didn't." Jenny replied. "If you'd been keepin' me mind on country matters fer a bit, I'd've gone alon' with it fer a bit."

They'd been sitting in mostly amicable silence for a few minutes, sipping their tea, when the door began to be pounded on in an all-too-familiar rhythm..

"Oh, lawks." Jenny muttered. "What the bliddy 'ell is Miller doin' here at this time o' day?"

She got up, heading for the door, while Vastra remained seated, quickly searching out her veil and hat.

Outside, she heard Jenny open the door.

"Jenny Flint, it is me duty t' inform yer that yer nicked." Miller said.

Then a third person entered the conversation.

"In the name of God, what for?" It was a classic example of the upper classes. Vastra guessed she'd like the woman. She seemed to be intervening on behalf of a servant.

"Fer the murder of Mr. Jeremy Kyle, of no fixed abode, last night, in the alleyway between Eagle Street and Holbourne." Interestingly, Vastra noticed that there was no sound of handcuffs or the resistance of their forceful application.

"I didn't want to kill him." The stranger said. "He came at me with a knife, Constable."

 _He came at me..._ Vastra heard, processing the data. _He's talking to Jenny... and she's doing a voice so plummy you could ferment it into my favourite brandy. She got thrown out of her speech lessons as incapable of talking more fluently than a street-arab doing tricks._

"That's beside the point, me ladyship." Miller replied, a lot more deferentially. "There's still some poor bugger on the slab with the back of 'is skull missin', and you put 'im there." _Ladyship... who... I am going to tie her to the bed and refuse to tickle her until she confesses._

"I will happily give a statement to you, officer." The person she presumed to be Jenny replied. "If you'd get out your notebook." There was a rustle of fabric. "I, Jennifer Flint, of Thirteen Paternoster Row, declare this is a truthful statement. Last night, I was about my business on eagle street, when I heard a woman in distress down an alleyway. I investigated, and was promptly attacked, first with fists and boots, then a knife. On the production of the knife, I drew my pistol, and shot my attacker four times." _If you were carrying that little revolver of yours, you shouldn't have stopped at four._ Vastra thought, listening to the narrative. "I then left the scene in a panic, just as the first constable arrived."

"Anythin' else y' wish to add, me ladyship?"

"No." Jenny replied. Vastra heard the sound of her wife signing something, then the notebook closing."

"Sorry fer botherin' you, me Ladyship."

The door closed.

"So." Vastra asked, archly, once Jenny was back in her seat, looking just a trifle nervous. "I take it that wasn't your real birth certificate."

Jenny looked flustered. "It weren't." She replied, in her normal voice.

"Why?"

"Because I didn't want t' be that person." Jenny replied. "Not with you."

"So, I married a lie." Vastra sounded disappointed. "I married someone who pretended to be one step above vermin, but was in fact one step down from royalty."

"No. You married me. The me I want t' be."

"What is your relationship to her Majesty the Queen?" Vastra asked, things dropping into place like shipping containers.

"No relation." Jenny squeaked.

"If you lie to me again about this again, I will tie you to our bed and not tickle you for three hours." Vastra told her.

Jenny blushed at the very serious threat. "We're cousins." She said, looking Vastra in the eye.

"And who exactly is 'Uncle Bill'"

"Emp'rer of germ'ny." She admitted.

Then Vastra simply reached down beside her chair.

"Hands." She instructed Jenny.

The human mutely offered her wrists, holding them close together in front of her.

Vastra locked her favourite American handcuffs around her wife's wrists, securing them close together in front of her, without the awkward faffing that was involved with darbies. The leather protection wrapping on the inside was a decidedly aftermarket accessory.

Then she very firmly led the human upstairs, before briefly releasing one of the handcuffs, looping it around the frame of the large wooden bed they shared, and fastening her wife firmly in place.

Then she pulled off the pumps she was wearing, and fastened the belt, which she'd just picked up off the floor, around her ankles, ensuring that she couldn't easily resist.

"The rules are simple." Vastra said. "Every time you giggle, I will stop for ten seconds. When you have gone without giggling for two minutes, I will untie you."

"Aye aye, ma'am."

Then Vastra started to tickle her wife, carefully focusing on the spots where the human's feet were most sensitive. This particular game/punishment would usually last a couple of hours.

She saw few reasons to shorten it. Carefully, she thought back to when she'd first met the human, trying to figure out what she'd missed.

 **Bit of a left-field development, I know. It's based on some out of date information I'd come across a few months back. I find it offers a few alternatives to the standard "street-arab" scenario, although I have no idea where I I read it. As I'd already referenced it a few times, I wasn't going to eliminate it. It doesn't change too much of her background. Vastra still found her on the streets. The first section is an old-prefab I wrote while working on A Minor** **misdemeanor.**

 **I've got another prefab for the next chapter to run off of, but that isn't going to show up for a couple of weeks, owing to the joys of university. I'm also working on a Star Wars fic, mostly for amusement.**


	5. Chapter 5

**In which Vastra recalls her first encounter with Jenny, and takes her wife's mind off of their troubles.**

 _ **Early 1881, Billingsgate, South London**_

Vastra's hearing picked up the struggle from fifty yards away.

Dressed in tight-fitted hunting clothes, a mottled grey and orange, to best camouflage her against the night sky, she flirted along several rooftops, barely even loosening any of the tiles her feet touched. She certainly didn't make the beginner's error of sending a stack of the tumbling into the street. That had been somewhat embarrassing, particularly when several large apes in funny domed hats had started to search for a ladder, she assumed, to rescue her.

It took her perhaps thirty seconds to cover the distance, vaulting between roofs and and masonry, and several times clearing small gaps in a bound.

Finally, she reached the alleyway in which the sounds were most dense. Cautiously, her head extended over the edge of the roof.

In the alleyway, four or five apes, dressed somewhat raggedly, were attempting to subdue a monkey, who seemed to be putting up far more of a struggle than they expected, or to simply have very good aim, Vastra thought with a wince, seeing a sixth man curled into a whimpering ball on the ground.

 _Apes never think of looking up, do they?_ She commented to herself, mentally.

Her current weapon, a curved sword she'd found on a bench outside a building, whispered out of the simple wooden sheath she'd improvised for it, before she stepped off of the building, a drop of perhaps fifteen feet, straight onto a very generous ape, who'd offered himself as a landing pad. The impacted primate seemed to suffer several injuries as she landed on his shoulders, bearing him to the ground in significant discomfort, before what tasted like a bag of pepper struck the silurian straight in the face. It didn't stop her sweeping sharply to one side with her sabre, the blade severing an artery in the neck of one of the apes.

...-...-...-...-...

Lady Jennifer Flint, aka Jenny, had seen the group of men following her into down the street about fifty yards before they jumped her, forcing her to back into what proved to be a dead end alleyway.

"You sure you don't want to take us up on that deal?" One of them asked, leeringly. The comment was all she needed to gain two bits of identification: they were a group of members from a gang known as 'The Tong', and that they likely meant to rape her.

Without even thinking, her booted foot rose, driving seven years of ballet lessons into a single, well aimed, kick that drove the spokesthug's testes straight into his pelvis, doubling him up in agony. She then took two quick steps back, her hand dropping into her purse for a second line of defence: a twist of pepper, ground so that it would carry about ten feet when thrown into the air.

Suddenly, one of the rearmost apes collapsed, as something landed on his shoulders. She screamed, before throwing the entire twist of pepper at the figure. It impacted across where she had judged the eyes would be, although the sudden arrival of that much pepper didn't seem to have much effect, as a ruddy sword flicked sideways, sending a stream of arterial blood spraying across the alleyway.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Vastra shook her head, trying to clear her vision briefly. Whatever the monkey had thrown at her, she didn't want it in her eyes during a combat situation. Relying briefly on her hearing, she clicked her tongue, remembering a lesson from her training, before striking at the closest ape based on the sound. The sword slashed between the second and third ribs, before slicing the primate's heart in half.

She heard a scuffle ahead of her, and flicked out her tongue, smearing mucus over her eyes briefly, before swiping it and the majority of the irritant back into her mouth. A couple of blinks of her third eyelid and she could see the small monkey at the centre of the confrontation scrabbling at a bone handled knife buried deep in her side.

Vastra met her eyes briefly. The monkey had fought bravely. "Do not pull it out." She instructed the monkey. Then she advanced on the ape who'd stabbed the monkey. He'd drawn a second knife, and was waving it at her, and making threats.

Calmly, Vastra used a shi'col'ji grip to confiscate the weapon, before holding the ape off of the ground by the collar with one hand. Then, after a glance at the monkey, carefully checking where the knife had gone in on her, she inserted the knife into him, pushing it in at the same angle. Then she withdrew it. There was a gush of blood, and the ape rapidly went limp.

 _I'm..._ She had no idea what to think. Everything about the monkey, for some reason, was screaming for her to protect it. One of the the piles of trash, which she realised was a badly dressed ape with a serious aroma issues when it started moving, made an attempt to get to its feet. Her sabre slashed down, and it slumped back to the ground. _She isn't running away, or screaming. If I can't find a safe way to get that knife out, she'll die for certain._ Vastra hissed slightly when she realised that was a distressing concept.

The first thing to do, she reasoned, was to get the ape indoors. Carefully, she gathered it up, telling her now mostly unconscious monkey not to struggle. She knew at least one man who could help, if anyone could.

…-…-…-…-…

 _ **March, 1892, Paternoster Row**_

After about ten minutes, and a lot of giggling, Vastra suddenly heard a phrase she'd only use Jenny use perhaps a few times during their time together, up until this point. "Nelson, Ma'am." It wasn't, to Vastra's relief, their 'stop immediately and completely' safeguard phrase. "Nelson" on its own meant: 'I'm uncomfortable'. Vastra heard that one regularly, although she always tried to prevent a repeat of the situation, usually caused by her overtightening a restraint. "Nelson, ma'am." Meant: 'I don't want to do this at the moment.'

Instantly, Vastra stopped tickling, and unfastened the belt holding her wife's ankles together. Then she dipped her tongue down the front of her own dress, hooking out the straightforward key used to release the handcuffs. Within fifteen seconds, Jenny was sitting up, rubbing her wrists briskly.

"Sorry, ma'am." She said. "I weren't enjoyin' it at all, an' me legs were getting a bit uncomfortable."

Vastra just held Jenny, offering all of the reassurance she could. It wasn't the first time Jenny had suffered nightmares after killing. It wouldn't be the last. If it was, then Vastra would start to seriously worry. Jenny would always be a little on edge for the next couple of days after she was forced to take a life.

"We came up with those phrases for a very good reason." Vastra reminded Jenny. "Without them, I might seriously injure you."

Jenny almost delicately kissed the Silurian, aiming for a clump of skin just below her tympanic membrane, which she knew to be particularly and pleasurably sensitive, and slightly nibbling it.

Then she brought out her 'carnosaur' grin, causing Vastra's heart to skip a beat.

"Git up there." She ordered Vastra. "It's your turn for this one."

Vastra immediately began acting very reluctant. "I don't want to." She said.

"Well, I didn't want you t' either, but you still trussed me up like a bleeding turkey half an hour ago." Jenny pointed out, in full "little dragon" mode.

She could tell, after the length of their relationship and companionship, that Vastra was playing hard to get. Unfortunately for the Silurian, Jenny had a secret weapon. Reaching under the head of the bed, she extracted a particularly fluffy feather duster.

"Well?" She asked, brandishing it at Vastra.

Trying to make out she was doing this entirely under duress, Vastra scrambled up to the head of the bed, and ratcheted the handcuffs shut around her own wrists, as Jenny removed the boots from her wife's feet.

Vastra began to look legitimately nervous when Jenny extracted what looked suspiciously like a container of twenty-first century dental floss from the bathroom, before buckling the belt around the Silurian's ankles.

"Don't you dare!" She growled, while her vestigial tail twitched with anticipation of what was to come.

Jenny had found the Silurian's most vulnerable point by accident. She also knew that dental floss would allow for reliable access to the small gaps between her scales, particularly around the toes.

Vastra snorted, trying to pull her feet out of Jenny's grasp, as the floss went home, worked between the scales that separated her main toe from the subordinate toes.

The evil grin on her wife's face made her grin as well, at least until Jenny found another structure to target.

"Please!" Vastra begged. "Not…" she broke off, thrashing furiously as Jenny worked the floss in underneath her dewclaw, and just started ruthlessly stimulating what was possibly the most sensitive location on a Silurian.

It was time for desperate measures. He tongue flicked out, snagging the handcuff key from down the front of her dress, before very rapidly depositing it in one of her hands. A few moments later, the cuff around that wrist was unlocked. A second flick of her tongue ensnared the floss, and threw the container across the bedroom.

Jenny countered the initial attempt at grappling with her by dancing back, but she couldn't quite avoid the tongue Vastra sent after her, which firmly ensnared her left arm, wrapping around just above the elbow.

If she'd wanted to, there were several ways she could have detached the frustratingly prehensile tongue. Instead, she jumped on top of Vastra, knocking the Silurian backwards. Most of their training went out of the window, as they simply wrestled like puppies for a couple of minutes, until Vastra finally pinned her wife to the bed, and Jenny tapped out.

Jenny squeaked slightly as Vastra's tongue conducted an infiltration mission, before the Silurian's hands moved down her torso from her shoulders, and her body began to throb with sheer pleasure.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

When they were both spent, Vastra looked around the room, slightly startled by the amount of fabric that was strewn on the horizontal surfaces around the bed. Under her hand, she could feel the thin scar from the knife thrust that had so nearly taken Jenny from her all of those years before, before they knew what they would become to each other. Half under her, Jenny had fallen asleep, looking utterly at peace, almost 'angelic' as she believed the human term was.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

 ** _Cheapside, London, early 1881_**

Vastra only hesitated for a few moments when she barged through her door. Carrying a monkey through the streets of London had been a surprisingly pleasant experience. The amount of stray heat even such a small creature had given off had invigorated her, allowing her to run faster than she might normally have in that environment. Dropping the monkey onto her bed, Vastra placed her into what her unit medic had called "the recovery position" taking care that no pressure was placed on the knife in her abdomen. It was a risk, but from what she knew, the anatomy of apes did not vary much from her own people.

Placing a blanket over the monkey, who, she suspected, from the length of her hair, to be female, Vastra pulled open a drawer, and extracted a small device that would have baffled any resident of the era besides her. She simply pulled back the small knob in the centre, which sent a signal out across the timestream. It didn't matter what the Doctor was doing at the time he received it, he would arrive, as far as she knew, within a quarter of what apes defined as an hour.

Within ten ape minutes, which Vastra nervously watching the small ape, whose breathing seemed to be gradually slowing, there was a familiar wheezing and groaning noise, before the TARDIS dropped into the cleared space next to the wall that she kept reserved for it.

Within a few moments, the door slid open, and a very familiar head appeared.

"Blimey, you've let this place go a bit. Have you been eating properly?"

"Hello, Doctor." Vastra replied. "I... she needs your help."

"Who?" he asked, before spotting the figure on the bed. "Ah." He bustled over, and busied himself in the usual behavior of prodding, using several apparently odd devices to look at the small ape, before finally standing up.

"You were right." He replied. "The local doctors of this time couldn't have done anything other than fill her with morphine and wait for her to die. Fortunately, I have a blue box here that can get her to where she needs to be."

He darted back into the TARDIS, before extracting a stretcher, which appeared to have been behind the door.

"When you triggered that, I knew someone would need it." He explained, as they carefully transferred the ape onto the stretcher, and then into the TARDIS.

Vastra stepped inside with him, before the doors closed, and the relative dimensional stabiliser fired up.

When the doors opened again, they were in a courtyard, with flying transport vehicles passing overhead.

"Welcome to Dromund." He said. "The locals around here are quite used to unusual appearances, so your face will be entirely ignored."

Two uniformed humanoids quickly came over to the TARDIS, seemingly entirely unbaffled by the sudden appearance of a blue box in their midst.

"Good afternoon." The Doctor greeted them. "We have a patient for you." Vastra signalled them inside, and they almost instantly spotted the monkey, before picking up her stretcher and carrying her inside. As they went past, Vastra noticed that the female's face was paler than when she'd been loaded aboard.

"Vastra, your room is still in storage." He slapped a control panel. "Go and get some sleep."

She obeyed. It was an effort to do so.

A few hours of mostly dreamless sleep, the Doctor returned. "She's out of danger. The knife had hit her liver and narrowly missed her pancreas. They've done everything they can for her."

Bizarrely, Vastra felt as if she was being given that news about a friend, not a chance-met stray from the streets. _Focus, Vastra._ She chided herself. _Once she knows who saved her, and what you are, she'll be out of the door in a few days._

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Jenny stirred gently when she felt the pressure on her scar. It wasn't the only such memento she'd picked up. But it was the most sensitive.

"Will yer stop playin' wi' that?" She asked, although her tone wasn't angry. Looking up at Vastra, she knew she'd... they'd been very lucky to have met that night. "We've got a photo to find an' a case t' solve."

 **Wrote most of this over the weekend. #PrayforParis**


	6. Chapter 6

**In which Jenny and Vastra have a second breakfast of the day, Jenny disguises herself as a Governess and travels to Briony Lodge**

After a bit more prodding, a small amount of wrestling, and quite a bit of shoving, Vastra was firmly ejected from the bed. Concluding that Jenny was indeed quite serious, she gathered up her various small clothes and clambered back into them.

"Where's Strax...?" Jenny asked, slightly nervously, rounding up the various layers of underwear she was required to wear... They hadn't seen or heard him for at least half an hour.

"He's conducting surveillance of the moon." Vastra replied.

"At arf past one in t' afternoon?" Jenny blurted. "Yer did take 'is missile launcher offa him, didn'ca?"

"I secured it in a safe place after he claimed that a flock of what I believe to be called starlings had been plotting an aerial assault on the garden, and specifically the vegetable 'patch'." Vastra reassured her wife. "When he started to load one of his airburst munitions into the thing, I decided that he would not be allowed to fire it."

"Yer mean that t' starlin's woulda been in smaller pieces than you can casserole." Jenny muttered, clambering back into her official pseudo-corset. The garment gave her the appearance of wearing a corset, without having to put up with the breathing issues and a reduced range of motion. Admittedly, it was also made of Kevlar.

Once they were both fully garbed for their roles, the two exited their bedroom, hand in hand, and headed for the kitchen.

While Vastra took charge of toast production (on the basis that she would struggle to do too much damage with a slice of bread), Jenny got on with the bacon, scrambled eggs, and sausages that were required for a second breakfast, at least when Vastra was one of the diners.

Once Vastra had finished toast production and the smoke had cleared from the room, the two sat down, Vastra insisting on having her toast cut into soldiers. For some bizarre reason, she refused to believe she could do so herself. Given where her eyes usually were during the procedure, Jenny had a pretty good idea what the actual reason was. There were some things in every relationship that you had to tolerate.

While they ate, they planned.

"We're looking for a cabinet photo." Jenny reminded her wife, after a suggestion that they burgle them house themselves. "Even if you brew up some of that gawdawful sleeping gas, it'd take all day to simply search the place for all the spots small enough to conceal something like that."

Frustratedly, Jenny grabbed a nearby tissue box. Using her penknife, she quickly cut out a piece of card about the size of a cabinet photograph. "This is what we'd be searching the place for."

Vastra twitched out her tongue, and borrowed the demonstration card.

"This wouldn't be too hard to find. It'd have both of our scents on it."

"You..." She broke off, noticing what could be best described as a shit-eating grin on Vastra's face. "Very funny." (1)

"Everything in the house will have her scent on it, so we wouldn't be able to track it that way. We know that ordinary burglars couldn't find it."

"So, we need a way to either search the house for it, assuming, of course, that it isn't in the keeping of a lawyer or some old friend, already packaged up, with orders to post it if the Times reports a certain engagement without her being sent a stand-down message by some secure means." Vastra seemed slightly put out at the idea.

"Yep." Jenny replied.

"Could you go undercover?" Vastra asked.

"The servants would know me, certainly for the next few weeks. They'd know I were an outsider. If they found me in a dressin' room or rooting through a jewellery box, they'd get a constable in, sure as eggs, and I'd have fallen down the stairs while they were chasing me."

"They'd be able to overcome you?"

"Not 'less I let em." Jenny replied. "But I'd have ter let em. Otherwise the constables would be round here as soon as they got hold of a telephone."

"It's not an option." Vastra stated. "I'm the only one allowed to beat you with anything"

"Using that velvet whip, sure. If you try anything with that blinking riding crop, I'll break it over your head."

Vastra gave her a look.

"No." Jenny replied. "Bad Vastra. Very naughty."

Even Vastra couldn't remain entirely dignified. There was a snort from her chair.

"We need to figure out how to get me inside the house, without drawing attention."

"I can do undercover too." Vastra muttered.

"In a nunnery or in the Ottoman Empire, sure." Jenny pointed out, her hearing quite sensitive enough to detect the Silurian's version of sotto voice. "Having a tall lady in a veil bang on your door around here is going to be a dead giveaway."

Then they got on with the planning in earnest.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Jenny cracked open the cupboard about half an hour later. Stepping past her usual selection of serving dresses, and even past the boot boy outfit she kept handy, she arrived at her collection of walking dresses. Despite her nominal employment, it was significant.

 _I don't want any of the summer ones._ She decided, stepping past a selection of lightweight dresses in pastel colours. _They ain't warm enough for this job._

Turning around, she quickly pursed through her selection. _Too nobby... Too cheap... French... Spanish... Where did we find this one, India…? I'm not a Jedi… Too expensive for the plan. Ah._

She pulled out a straightforward number in a sober brown, and read the label to confirm her choice. _Governess... early twenties. Sober and hardworking. I'll need a wash._

She gathered it off the rack, before continuing into the next section, an Aladdin's cave both of them regularly added items to.

 _Handbag..._ She selected a simple enough bag, decorative enough to suggest that she was in good standing with her bank, and just battered enough to suggest she'd been carrying it for a while. _Purse..._ She picked up a simple bag, made from velvet, and stocked it from a tray of coins kept for the purpose. They were still locked away, as Vastra occasionally ate coins, for some inexplicable reason (2).

Once she'd got her essentials, she gathered a couple of playbills, several for recent plays, and one for an older play that had been very popular, and slotted them into the bag. She added a selection of other pocket litter, before dropping a handful of bills in. They were made out in her name, and had been acquired while shopping in the area in case she needed them later. A good shaking later, it looked like her normal bag.

There were still a couple of items to take care of. A vertical rack held spectacles, arranged by social class. She grabbed a pair with a gilt bronze frame, expensive enough to belong to a respectable governess who wanted to protect her eyesight. Unless anyone looked closely, realising that they were plain glass would be very challenging. It took her further from the image of the fellow serving-girl that had visited the tavern as well, which was also important. She then made three selections from their collection of educational texts, choosing Le Morte d'Arthur, a collection of poems by Tennyson, and a textbook detailing the basics of Mr Combe's discoveries.

Before anything else, she took herself through to the washroom, and stripped down, before systematically cleaning herself. Smelling like a servant would be a potentially serious error. The cupboard contained a selection of scents, from which Jenny chose a two shilling rose scent, and dabbed it behind her ears, and in the other places that a governess would wear scents.

Next, she did her hair. Rather than its normal bun, or the loose style she preferred when Vastra was closed for clients, she formed it into a pair of buns, one over each ear. It distorted the shape of her face completely.

She thought for a few minutes about her last step. Finally, she decided that wearing a pair of contact lenses to change her eye colour was unnecessary.

Pulling on her new uniform, Jenny did a quick twirl in the mirror, before selecting her shoes. She looked severe and authoritative, particularly when she practiced a glare, just for the sake of it.

The shoes were from a rack, all of which she'd broken in at various times. She selected a pair with one centimetre heels, and inserted a small toe wedge, just to make sure that even her way of walking would be different.

Satisfied with her appearance, it was time to plan the next step of her excursion.

Looking at a map, she planned a route that would bring her into the area from the west, rather than the south. Everything counted.

Stepping out of the door, she called through to Vastra. "I'm just 'eadin' aut, Ma'am. I should be back this evenin'. There's a brew on t' stove if you need it 'fore I get back."

"Make sure to bring those photos back with you." Vastra replied. "And be careful."

"I will, Ma'am."

The trip, she decided, would be best made on a public omnibus. They were ubiquitous, as reliable as any form of scheduled public transport, and would take her exactly where she wanted to go to.

Once aboard, she started people watching. Vastra was more prone to it than she was, and had practically turned it into a sport. Looking around, she catalogued the other passengers on the top deck.

 _Decorator, in his late thirties. Spent a few years in the army, from the way he holds himself. Knows how to handle himself in a brawl. Simple wedding ring. Probably married for ten years or so judging by the surface._

 _Boot-boy, on his way home. Probably going to see a girlfriend, from the way he's staring eagerly ahead. I'd watch him around trinkets and the like._

 _Craftsman. Not quite sure what he works with. Could be plaster or stone. Well built. Looks fairly reliable. Not married, for some reason. If the colour of his eyes is any indication, he's a drinker. Unlikely to be an alcoholic, but he really needs to cut back._

The fourth passenger caused her governess persona to sit upright, nervous and uptight. _Local thug, by the look of him. Not someone I want following me. I can't give him a whacking like this, though._

Fortunately, the man decided to solve it for her. Shuffling closer on the bench, he reached around her body, pulling her into a rough, unsolicited hug. His arm crossed her body just below the shoulder, and his fingers went exploring...

She didn't really look. All the other passengers heard was a dull crack, then a sudden howl of agony. It was repeated three more times, before the man, still with an unsolicited arm around her shoulders, withdrew his hand as if burnt.

Screaming, she twisted, as if suddenly released from groping-induced paralysis. Weighting up her books, she took a carefully measured swing with the book of Arthurian legends, slamming all seven hundred pages into the side of the man's head.

He went down, stunned, shortly before the decorator arrived, and issued a standard model kicking, alternating strikes between the guts, ribs and testes.

Jenny got off at the next stop, acting as if she was horrified to face such behaviour on public transport. The fact she'd quite casually snapped four of the man's fingers didn't matter too much. He'd put them somewhere they hadn't been invited, and where no male had been allowed for some years. (3)

Checking she still had her books, she decided to walk from the Serpentine to St. John's Wood. For February, it was a pleasant enough day.

There were a few examples of behaviour that she'd more usually expect when she was participating in a 'Girl's night out' in the twenty-first century with Clara. They'd ended up cuddling on the sofa once, which had horrified both of them when they woke up with splitting headaches the next day. She mostly ignored the fairly objectionable wolf-whistles, although they did make her feel good. Even deliberately dressed to look as provocative as a telegraph post, she was able to draw eyes, it seemed. She wouldn't have been a twenty year old human if that hadn't affected her slightly, even though the fact that men were making them so soon after her previous experience made her want to start cracking their skulls.

Inevitably, someone decided that she was worth enough to dip her bag. Pretending not to notice, she allowed the offender to have one hand in her incautiously unfastened bag, before noticing him, and promptly belting him around the head with a copy of Tennyson. The attacker took a look at her, decided not to pull out his knife, and sprinted for the undergrowth.

The rest of her trip was uneventful. She snagged an eclair from a street seller, along with a box of lucifers. They were always running out of them back at the row.

Just outside Bryony Lodge, she turned briefly, and checked the street for vehicles. It was empty, aside from a brewer's dray, which was making a delivery to a house. The lad holding the reins was fairly typical, with a top-hat secured in place with a woollen cap, an oversized greatcoat, and was watching the street far more than the horses.

As such, he didn't notice in time when the wagon lurched forward, dislodging his grip on the reins.

Jenny had just enough time to turn, and scream, before she was bowled over by the horses, narrowly missing the left wheels as she fell. She landed heavily, striking her head on the cobbles as the dray rolled over the top of her, the wheels straddling her, much to her relief, as her vision swam, then faded out.

 **Bit of a cliff-hanger. I'd like to thank TheTightTux and Painton for reviewing, as always. I'm now getting to the stage when I'm having enough trouble keeping the timeline straight in my own mind. There may have to be some date revisions. Again. There have also been some content revisions.**

 **(1): this is a particularly Aspie joke.**

 **(2): Vastra eats coins to serve as gastroliths.**

 **(3): What I think should be the accepted and lawful punishment for groping. I reckon it would cut down re-offending rates quite a bit.**


	7. Chapter 7

_I am going to kill Wiggins_. Jenny decided, as she watched the dray roll over her. _He was supposed to pull it to a damned stop, just before it hit me, not let it run me down. My bloody head feels like I've been on an all-night bender._

Dimly, she was aware of shocked voices and men running towards her. Thinking back on the planning session, she allowed the present to drift from her consciousness.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

"Ma'am, the only way fer me to git in unnoticed is if they let me in themselves." Jenny pointed out, after a twenty minute discussion. "They've 'ad a few screwers and such around of late, so I need a way to git in and case the place wi'out them tumbling to me, or thinking I'm there fer a pannie."

"Jenny, I have a good grasp of the English language, and usually of your adopted dialect of it, but I'm not quite following you." Vastra replied. "What, exactly, is a 'screwer' and a 'pannie'?"

"A screwer is a burglar, an' a pannie is a burglary, Ma'am." Jenny replied. "I could be one, if'n I weren't working fer you."

"And how does a screwer differ from a cracksman?" Vastra asked.

"A cracksman is a screwer who specialises in safes an' t' like. Jenny explained. "A screwer does locks, windows and t' like. A cracksman can do all o' t' thin's a screwer can, and break into safes as well."

"I see." Vastra replied. "You are aware that I would be forced to hunt you down if you starting burgling people, and left me without a hot water ape at night."

"I'm sure yer would, Ma'am." Jenny replied.

Vastra sniffed. "How are you proposing to get in, other than knocking on the door, putting on your posh voice, and asking if they have any children who need teaching?"

"We're goin' ter need a staged accident, Ma'am." Jenny said, simply, after a few seconds.

"I… Jenny, I'm not going to let you step in front of an omnibus or something again. Half the time you get picked up and brought home by the constabulary, and you usually can't walk for a week afterwards."

"Then make sure that whoever runs me over is a friend."

"Who, exactly, do you propose, to do the running over?" Vastra asked.

"I was thinkin' o' Wiggins, Ma'am."

"Jenny, he's twelve."

"I know. I weren't that much older when you 'ad me followin' crooks arand."

"That was… different." Vastra retorted. "You want him to drive a wagon over you."

"Not quite, Ma'am." Jenny said, calmly. "I can do 'ysterics wit' t' best o' em. 'E stops the wagon, an' I staggers over to the steps and sits down."

"And once they've invited you inside?"

"That's when Wiggins sticks a smoke grenade through the window."

"How will you get them to open the window?" Vastra asked.

"Make out I need air.

"So she rushes to protect the most valuable thing in the house…" Vastra mused. "Ape instinct at its finest… ow!" Vastra danced backwards in her chair as a second walnut came hurtling across the room, close on the heels of the first, which, with typical precision, had dotted her on the nose.

Jenny just wagged a finger at her wife, while the second walnut smacked into the headrest of the silurian's armchair. The walnuts had been the closest projectiles at hand.

"How do you know I have any of them?" Vastra asked. "We use them constantly."

"Because I know exactly 'ow many you made last week, and we 'aven't needed 'em for anything since."

"Give him two." Vastra said. "I'll get them for you, while you go and change."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

There was a clatter of hooves as the dray was hauled to a halt, perhaps six feet after the rear of it had passed over her ankles. A clatter of smaller feet could be vaguely heard, followed by the clatter of a doorknocker. From another direction, she could hear Wiggins conducting Operation Leg It. At a guess, one of the loafers had started after him, after taking off his belt.

As concerned heads loomed over her, she faded out again, this time remembering her meeting with Wiggins and the Paternoster Irregulars.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

"Yer wan' me ter do what?" He has demanded, as soon as she explained her plan to him. She knew full well that half the irregulars were fixated on her, and that Wiggins was one of them, according to Vastra. Apparently, they produced fehromoans, or however Vastra would spell it properly.

"I wan' yer to run a brewer's dray or summat similar at me, then stop 'fore you actually run me down." She repeated.

"Are yer mad?" He asked. "'Ow the bliddy 'ell am I supposed to git 'old of a 'eavy wagon wi'out some bluebottle accusing me o' 'avin' 'alf-inched it?"

"'Cause there's a sovere'in in it fer yer." She said, handing him both the coin, the lucifers she'd brought earlier, and both of Vastra's smoke bombs.

The street arab, and several of his mates disappeared around the corner within, heading for a drovers yard, already splitting the smoke bombs and the lucifers between them. Jenny had already decided to not overly concern herself with their methods. Her plan would come to fruition, if she knew them. And the less she knew about the how, the less she could say under oath.

-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Through her daze, Jenny was aware of several coats being stripped off, and being carried inside Bryony Lodge, in a stretcher made using them, and a pair of broom handles. The ceiling overhead was a sky-blue confection, with elegant plaster cornices and decorations. She was carried through a doorway into what she suspected to be the drawing room, before being placed upon the sofa, with the coats still underneath her. That she would end up in a room accessible from the street had been the one thing she couldn't have entirely controlled, even had she not been concussed.

The lady of the house was quick to arrive, carrying a jug of water, which, to Jenny's not overly great surpise, was used to bath her forehead until she opened her eyes.

"Where are you employed?" She asked.

"Fifteen Hampton Crescent." Jenny replied, in her 'posh enough to be a governess, but clearly not a nob voice'. It was an address she often used when on a case. The old warhorse who lived there was very happy with the regular deposit of a sovereign a month in his bank account, and a case of scotch at Christmas. He paid for them by vouching for Jenny when she needed someone who wasn't Vastra during a case, and by forwarding mail to them.

A young boy was dispatched, with a shilling in down payment, to tell the inhabitant about his employee's misfortune.

"Are you hurt?"

Jenny almost felt guilty that she was here to scam the woman. "Me… My head hurts. Slightly theatrically, she clutched at her side. "And my ribs 'urt something fierce."

"I've already phoned for a doctor." Irene Alder reassured Jenny. "I've also got a cup of tea brewed, if you feel up to drinking anything."

Gratefully, Jenny accepted the offer, with a "Thank you kindly, Ma'am."

The tea was brought, and Jenny sampled it. Noble ladies usually served something more closely related to stale urine as tea. To her relief, this tasted like a rich Ceylon blend, brewed properly over several minutes.

Then the door went, and she heard the sound of a person passing though it.

"Doctor Smythe." She heard her host greet the august gentleman, having stepped out of the room, leaving her momentarily unattended.

"Miss Adler." She heard, before recognising the voice. _Oh, Christ. It's t' one from t' other day._

Slightly nervously, Jenny glanced at the window, and saw one of the irregulars poised outside.

Quickly, she crossed to the window, and slammed open the sash, before leaning out.

"Chalky, now." She gasped.

The boy lit the smoke bomb, and threw it through the window, over her shoulder, letting fall the half-brick he'd been carrying concealed in his jacket.

Jenny composed herself, before beginning to scream.

"FIRE!" she yelled, dropping into street-urchin. "FIRE!"

Before the door opened, she kicked the smoke bomb into the grate of the fire and draped herself out of the window, more than slightly artistically.

When the medical gentleman pushed through the door, reacting instinctively to the shout of fire, Irene Adler was right behind him.

While Smythe busied himself with Jenny, she crossed to a painting hanging above the sofa, and briefly withdrew something, before a maid dashed in with a jug of water and tipped it over the smoke bomb, which stopped smouldering almost instantly, and denatured into what looked like a pile of soot.

The panic, and the slightly charged voice, along with the rest of her props and hairstyle, was enough to fool Dr. Smythe, who, although he half-recognised her, wrote the similarity off as being a close relation.

Jenny spent an hour on the sofa of the other receiving room, before Smythe pronounced her able to depart. Irene Adler insisted on pressing a cab fare into her hands, before Jenny left, not even slightly faking the limp she was walking with.

After a few streets, Jenny glanced around, feeling that she was being followed. There was no-one in sight who looked as if they were tracking her, or even looking in her direction.

Following her training from Vastra, she glanced around for an omnibus, before dashing to catch one that was about to pull away. She swung herself onto the step next to the conductor, and pressed the fare for two stops into his hand, just as the horse-drawn bus swung into motion. Climbing onto the open top deck, she used the opportunity to scan the crowd. She used a trick Vastra had taught her to commit the ones nearest to her memory for an hour or so.

The silurian had insisted on Jenny learning how to tell when she was being tailed, and how to lose a tail very early in her training. "You're too small to be able to confront them, and you might not be able to outrun them if you were ambushed." Vastra had told her.

At the next stop, she jumped off just before the omnibus started moving, having first scanned the loafers and vendors nearby, along with comparing nearly everyone else to her short term memory.

There were a few similar uniforms, but nothing that set off any alarm bells.

Still on edge, she took a seat in a chocolate shop, and ordered a mug, complete with marshmallows, and took a seat, watching the world go by, with her back and left shoulder to a wall.

Twenty minutes later, she felt secure enough to continue back to the Row.

Still slightly on edge, she wove her way through the streets, spending a lot of her time browsing in windows, crossing and recrossing the streets. Nearly any tail she could imagine would have been thrown by the routine or given themselves away. Nevertheless, her gut kept on sending the message that someone was following her. It was a primal instinct. And a nearly primal fear, after several miles, dozens of shop windows and multiple stops.

The final half-mile, to Paternoster Row itself, she did by memory, weaving through alleyways and little cut-throughs. She knew that she was, and more to the point, looked like, a local. A governess wasn't that out of place in a rookery like the one she was weaving through, and she knew that most of the locals would naturally watch her back. Even so, the nagging feeling between her shoulder blades didn't diminish.

She nearly jogged up the front steps of the row, before rummaging inside her bag for the key.

Then, from a few feet away, from one of half a dozen people walking past, she heard a small sentence that left her very worried.

"Goodnight, Miss Jennifer Flint."

She froze, before dashing through the door, and bolting it behind her, heading into the drawing room, where Vastra was waiting for her, the remains of a moussaka sitting on the silurian's lap.

"What happened?"

"I were made!" She gasped.

"You're sure?" Vastra asked.

"I were followed all t' way from the 'ouse by someone."

"You're sure?"

"Yes."

Vastra looked at Jenny, before moving in, pulling the sash window blinds closed with her tongue, and just kissing her, washing away the fear, and nervousness.

 **I'd like to wish all of my readers a (belated) Happy Christmas or equivalent celebration. This chapter was slightly delayed, but I should get the next chapter finished in a week or so, with luck.**


	8. Chapter 8

**I didn't think I'd ever finish this story, but, by chance, I finally found what I'd done with the final chapter, nearly two years ago.**  
 **I've polished it, and am presenting it here.**

Once again, the birdsong woke Jenny up. When she was fully awake, she stretched slightly, rubbing herself against the protectively curled Silurian who was stealing her body heat, while resting her chin on the crown of Jenny's head, in what was both a protective and possessive statement. She knew exactly how much heat the Silurian was getting, as they'd disrobed each other the previous night.

After a couple of minutes, nature began to call.

"Gawd almighty, you daft thin'." Jenny muttered, after a gentle nudge with the back of her skull against the silurian's chin. "Gerrof."

Vastra made muzzy sounds in response, and increased the amount she was gripping her wife with both arms and legs.

Where the Silurian had got the blessed things from, she had no idea. What she did know, however, was A: They were on her wrists. B: Her wrists were connected behind her back. C: She couldn't rotate her wrists except in a circle.

Reluctantly, she curled her head forwards, until her chin was touching her chest, before slamming the top of her skull gently(ish) into the silurian's jawbone.

"Zhek?" Vastra groaned. "Aesh eroshl?" (1)

"I know it's early, but I need to go to the privy, love." Jenny said, twisting her head around and nibbling the soft scales at the base of the silurian's throat teasingly, eliciting a hiss from Vastra.

"Igui chtas icha?" (2)

"Yes." Jenny replied. She knew that Vastra wasn't computing very much, if she hadn't even transitioned to English yet. She would be speaking English within minutes, at a guess.

Vastra released her, before wrapping herself in the covers more firmly, respecting the February morning.

If her balance hadn't had more than a decade of tuning, Jenny might have had issues traversing the bedroom to the small en-suite. Vastra had approved, when she saw it. The upright National had been installed on her sixteenth birthday, as a present for them both, and had replaced an older, less-user friendly version.

As she was already dans le nu, there was no issue using the water closest, although operating the flush proved a challenge. Fortunately, she was able to ensnare the device and simply crouched slightly to operate the mechanism.

Wobbling slightly, she crossed the bedroom again, before dropping onto the bed. Vastra stirred as her weight dropped onto the mattress.

"One of these days, eroshl, I am going to cover you in ketchup, and lick it off you slowly."

"No you bliming well ain't." Jenny replied, finding the lack of the opportunity to give the silurian a smack 'round the tympanic membrane very frustrating.

"But…"

"I know, you think I look absolutely delectable."

Vastra purred.

"Today, Ma'am, is a Full English Day. Where you can have as much sauce as you want." Jenny told her, stretching slightly.

Their night had been energetic. She'd had taken a while to relax, rather than pacing around with a loaded firearm, which Vastra had spent moving closer, slowly and crooning a bass, calming note, exactly in time with her pulse, Jenny had noted. It had been all of the stresses of the day; being treated as an object by men, ending up under a dray that was supposed to stop just before it hit her, nearly being found out while infiltrating a target, and, of course, being followed all the way home. Surprisingly, Vastra had brewed her a cup of tea, to a very tolerable standard, before leaving her alone for half an hour with her latest adventure serial. Jenny knew she'd left the house and returned, but she hadn't been carrying a body.

Then, after another cup of tea, Vastra had taken her upstairs, to take her mind off of everything.

Vastra drew her wife close, and kissed her, thoroughly.

Gently, Jenny prodded the Silurian with a knee.

"I need me arms back." She said.

Vastra tried to pin her, but without the handle often provided by her wife's arms, Jenny was just about able to slip her grip. "There's not goin' ter be no food until I gits me arms back, Ma'am." Jenny said, as the two 'wrestled' on the bed.

Vastra hissed slightly, before reaching around her wife's back, and pressing down on a small catch mounted on top of the restraints.

When Jenny pushed against them again, the restraints slid open.

Stretching her shoulders slightly, she pushed against a few incipient pockets of cramp, overriding the muscles' protests with the ease of habituation.

The bondage, as she'd acknowledged it was, had originated from Vastra.

Before they'd become lovers, it had been a part of her assistant's training to ensure that she could make an attempt at freeing herself if she was abducted during an investigation. She'd started to find her mind wandering, after a few months, when Vastra tied her up, and particularly when a hand accidentally touched one of the areas Vastra had been trained were considered incorrect to touch while applying the ropes. She'd started to find ways of increasing the time taken to secure her, and then deliberately taking longer than she needed to free herself. When they had become lovers, they'd used it as a way to explore each other. It was less about the new opportunities, now, and more about reinforcing their feelings and their trust in each other.

Pecking a quick kiss onto one of Vastra's cheekbones, she clambered off of the bed, noticing with a grin the way Vastra was shamelessly drinking in every detail. As they had no reason to expect visitors, she hauled her flannel dressing gown over her shoulders, and firmly laced the front of it closed.

Even without the gas lights turned on, Jenny was able to easily find her way down to the kitchen. A foray into the cupboards revealed that the dairy cart had been around, and dropped off a dozen eggs, along with four pints of milk, which, to her relief, Vastra had deposited in the ice-box. Pushing a thumb through the foil of one of the milk bottles, Jenny poured a small amount into a tumbler, and sampled it, before pouring a larger measure into a thick-bottomed copper saucepan. Turning to the gas stove, she placed it onto one of the rings, and broke six of her eggs into the pan, before mixing them carefully together, until the solution was almost uniform. Dropping six slices from the bacon joint into a frying pan, she placed the pan over a second ring, before lighting both rings.

While she was content to let the bacon sizzle, she had to keep stirring the scrambled egg, which took her about five minutes. By that time, the bacon was as Vastra liked it, which, as she had carefully explained to the Silurian several years after they met, was also the way that her wife liked it, coincidentally or not. Vastra had agreed.

The egg curdled neatly. Jenny poured it onto their plates while it was still a slightly shining golden yellow.

Alongside the egg, Jenny poured a generous helping of American baked beans, bought from Fortnum and Mason. They were expensive (3), so they only got served at the conclusion of a case. A pair of well-grilled Cumberland sausages were picked out of the oven using tongs, and deposited on the tray. The bacon joined it, before she removed the toast from the stove, and spread it with butter. Two ultra-precise cuts with a wakizashi formed triangles of toast, which were arrayed on a toast rack.

With a grin, Jenny placed both plates on a silver service tray, and covered them with a cloche each, before placing a third, smaller item over the toast rack. She also collected Vastra's sauce caddy, laden with a variety of flavours.

A younger Jenny would have taken the whole assembly upstairs on her head, as a demonstration of her balance. The new, older Jenny, on the other hand, placed the assembly in the dumb-waiter, before activating the electric motor. If she'd had company, she'd have hand-cranked it up instead.

At the top of the stairs, Jenny retrieved the tray, before carrying it into their bedroom, where Vastra was snuggled into her corner suite.

Jenny put the platter onto the table, before pulling the cloche away, allowing her wife access to her second favourite meal. (Her favourite, Jenny had no intention of ever touching).

Jenny sat in the other chair, a comfortable chintz armchair, with a high back, and just relaxed, discussing trivial matters with Vastra.

Eventually, though, it was time to return to everyday life.

"Jenny…" Vastra said. "I sent your cousin a telegram last night, to tell him we'd solved the case."

"An' what time, Ma'am," Jenny asked. "Did you suggest that he called here?"

"About eleven." Vastra said.

Jenny's eyes flickered to the clock.

"'Alf-nine." She said. "We've got plenty of time, then."

"We have." Vastra said, sidling a little closer.

"Not fer that." Jenny said, pointedly.

Vastra deflated slightly, before bolting through to the water closet. Jenny headed for the shower. A half-full bottle of Thessian moonflower shower gel allowed her to clean the various smells of the previous day off of her body.

Vastra darted in as soon as Jenny had left, which meant that, appearances to the contrary, she'd have the house to herself for about half an hour, or at least until Vastra had used up all the hot water.

Slotting back into her familiar wool and cotton clothing was a relief. She wasn't going to burn her governess outfit, but it went to the back of the cupboard.

The first half-dozen daily tasks ticked themselves off, once she was dressed. Collect the milk, order some more eggs, empty the post cage, check the post for anything urgent, realign the hall carpet and put the tea on… Jenny achieved those within ten minutes, before making an assault on the washing up. With a draining board the size of several small houses, the process was achieved within fifteen minutes. She also washed the front hall, and left the door ajar to help the floor dry.

With an hour to spare, Jenny received Vastra in her studio, and provided tea and biscuits, before settling down for a session of people-watching.

At just after the appointed hour, the front door clattered open, resulting in the immediate appearance of several items of cutlery and a revolver, before the Graf von Kramm burst into the room. He hesitated, before the weapons were laid down.

"You have really got it!" he cried, looking between Vastra and Jenny, although the weaponry appeared to have taken the wind somewhat out of his sails.

"Not yet." Vastra replied.

"But you have hopes?"

"I have hopes." Vastra said, with a nod.

"Then, come. I am all impatience to be gone."

"We'll need ter call a cab." Jenny interjected, putting her third cup of builder's tea down on her side-table.

"No, my brougham is waiting." The Graf said.

"Then that will simplify matters." Vastra observed.

Locking the door behind them, the small party departed from Paternoster Row. Riding inside the brougham, Vastra relayed the bits of information Jenny had discovered, while Jenny rode on the outside. Bundled in an overcoat, against the chill march morning, Jenny hung on, slightly nervous about leaving Strax unsupervised, if only briefly.

As the coach rolled up the serpentine, Jenny was surprised to notice that the door of Briony Lodge was ajar, with an elderly woman who she vaguely recognised standing on the steps. The woman watched, sardonically, as Jenny and Vastra, along with the Graf, unloaded themselves.

"Madame Vastra and Party, I believe?" The woman said, looking them over.

"I am Madame Vastra," answered the Silurian, looking at her with a questioning and rather startled gaze. Jenny winced.

"Indeed! My mistress told me that you were likely to call. She left this morning with her husband by the 5:15 train from Charing Cross for the Continent."

"What!" Vastra flinched, barely stopping herself from hissing with chagrin and surprise. "Do you mean that she has left England?"

"Never to return."

"And the papers?" asked the Graf, hoarsely. "All is lost."

"We shall see." Vastra said. She pushed past the servant and rushed into the drawing-room, followed by the Graf and Jenny, who'd paused to steady the old woman and apologise.

The furniture was scattered about in every direction, with dismantled shelves and open drawers, as if the lady had hurriedly ransacked them before her flight. Vastra rushed at the bell-pull, tore back a small sliding shutter, and, plunging in her hand, pulled out a photograph and a letter. The photograph was of Irene Adler herself in evening dress, the letter was superscribed to "Miss Jennifer Flint. To be left till called for." Vastra handed it to Jenny after a quick sniff, who tore it open, and all three read it together. It was dated at midnight of the preceding night and ran in this way:

'My dear Miss Jennifer Flint,' The letter read. 'You really did it very well. You took me in completely. Until after the alarm of fire, I had not a suspicion. But then, when I found how I had betrayed myself, I began to think. I had been warned against you months ago. I had been told that, if the King employed an agent, it would certainly be you, and your mistress. And your address had been given me. Yet, with all this, you made me reveal what you wanted to know. Even after I became suspicious, I found it hard to think evil of such a young, hard-working girl as you'd presented to me. But, you know, I have been trained as an actress myself. Male costume is nothing new to me. I often take advantage of the freedom which it gives. I sent John, the coachman, to watch you, ran upstairs, got into my walking clothes, as I call them, and came down just as you departed.

Well, I followed you to your door, and so made sure that I was really an object of interest to the celebrated Madame Vastra. Then I, rather imprudently, wished you good-night, and started for the Temple to see my husband, as he is now.

We both thought the best resource was flight, when pursued by so formidable an antagonist; so you will find the nest empty when you call to-morrow. As to the photograph, your client may rest in peace. I love and am loved by a better man than he. The King may do what he will without hindrance from one whom he has cruelly wronged. I keep it only to safeguard myself, and to preserve a weapon which will always secure me from any steps which he might take in the future. I leave a photograph which he might care to possess; and I remain, dear Miss Jennifer Flint,

Very truly yours,

Irene Norton, née Alder.' (4)

Vastra gave the now-unmasked Monarch a bit of a look.

"Your majesty, what exactly was the point of pretending to be a mere nobleman?" the Silurian asked.

The human hesitated, for a few moments. "I wanted to keep my presence in London as secret as possible, Madame." He boomed.

"I'm sure you achieved your goals splendidly." Vastra replied. "I will present my bill, Your Majesty, if you would see fit to call this afternoon. Fully itemised, of course., And, I am sorry that I have not been able to bring your Majesty's business to a more successful conclusion."

"On the contrary, my dear," cried the King; "nothing could be more successful. I know that her word is inviolate. The photograph is now as safe as if it were in the fire."

"I am glad to hear your Majesty say so." Vastra said, dryly.

"I am immensely indebted to you. Pray tell me in what way I can reward you. This ring—" He slipped an emerald snake ring from his finger and held it out upon the palm of his hand.

"Your Majesty has something which I should value even more highly," said Vastra.

"You have but to name it."

"This photograph!" Vastra said, holding up the photograph of Irene Norton.

The King stared at him in amazement.

"Irene's photograph!" he cried. "Certainly, if you wish it."

"I thank your Majesty. Then there is no more to be done in the matter. I have the honour to wish you a very good morning."

Jenny smiled to herself. It'd taken her a week to train Vastra in that phrase.

"And, Yennifer…" The nobleman said, as they walked out of the door. "I'm sure your parents would appreciate it if you'd write once in a while."

Calling a cab from the rank near the serpentine, Jenny retained a fit and proper distance from her wife, until they returned to the Row, mulling over the parting words in her head. Maybe, despite everything, she'd try to break the barrier between her and her parents.

With a smile, she shook off Vastra, and headed for the study, and the writing desk where she'd concealed a few sheets of her paper.

Opening the drawer, she pulled the cardboard box out, and savoured the smell of the monogrammed notepaper.

"Dear Mother…" She wrote…

The rest would come later. But as she sat there, fountain pen in hand, she felt a weight lift off of her shoulders.

 **And that's a wrap. A bit later than planned, to say the least.** **  
**

 **Footnotes:  
** **1: Silurian. No idea what it means any more, but I think Vastra is asking Jenny what she's doing  
** **2: More Silurian. Vastra is asking if Jenny will return to bed  
** **3: In the victorian era, Baked Beans were a luxury foodstuff in the UK, only available from Fortnum and Mason, a high-end department store which has continuously been in business longer than the US has existed.  
** **4: Cribbed from the original and altered to fit. I can't write a letter in the Victorian style, certainly not compared to an actual Victorian.**


End file.
